Definition of a Monster
by esama
Summary: ABANDONED. When future's course takes too many wrong turns, a sophisticated monster decides to reshape the past in order to protect his kind. Time travel story.
1. Prologue

**Definition of a monster  
**

**Prologue**

Wizards are godless creatures. I think once upon a time they did believe in higher beings - and by them in higher judgement and authority. Once they looked up to heavens and felt that someone or something was looking down upon them. In their souls they felt that they were weighed and measured - judged. When they did magic, they felt that someone or something saw what they were doing and therefore they practiced a certain caution. Powers that Be, as they were called once upon a time, were looking down upon them and their wrath was something wizard kind did not want to rouse.

But that was long ago. When it happened or why, I cannot tell, but somewhere along the way wizards lost the belief. They became atheists. No wizard, no Seer, no Master of Light or Master of Dark, no Rune-caster, no Ward-maker… no human magician believes in divinity. There is a whole race of human beings out there with near limitless powers, and they do not believe in divine judgement. All they believe is that when they die they all will go to the same place in same manner. Afterlife is neither heaven nor hell to them, just the other step. It doesn't matter if they are good or evil, they will all go there nonetheless.

With no believe in divine judgement, they give themselves free hands. As godless creatures they revel in powers. They make their own rules and laws and bend them at their whim. Believing themselves to be the highest beings out there, the mightiest creatures in the entire world, they make themselves masters of all races. They become the judge and priest and though no one says it aloud they become the gods. They enforce their laws upon other magical creatures, labelling them as unworthy, as animals, as… beasts.

Of course, certain laws must be upheld. Protection must be maintained and secrecy is one way of doing that - there are countless dangerous magical races that cannot be allowed wander freely in the magic-less parts of the world. Dragons must be controlled, giants must stay hidden and so must many other equally dangerous creatures. Yet the Secrecy Clause is their sword against other creatures as well, even those that do not pose a true threat. Magicians force their Clause upon these creatures, making branches of it and naming them Legislations. One by one they close their rules upon the other creatures, enclosing them in cages of words and threats of punishment.

In the meanwhile they revel in their magic like pigs revel in mud. They use it for everything in every possible way; they make more and more means managing it, easier and simpler ways of using it. They branch it endlessly into new forms and shapes meant for various purposes. And somewhere in midst of this deformed tree of magic, a dark rotten core spreads, contaminating the entire form. And it is not dark magic that does it, for dark magic is only a branch. No. It is in the end godlessness which is rotting the tree of magic.

But not in the way it seems. By saying that I dot no mean that wizards should believe in gods, at this point they would only twist belief and make their religion a weapon in their hands. No. By godlessness I mean that they are dismissing the importance of their actions. They do not believe that they will have to face any responsibility for anything they do, so they are allowed to do anything. They have the power but no responsibility needed to control it properly. They wallow in this disbelief and twisted freedom and twist their own society in curls.

I do not believe in gods either, I never shall. Once I nearly believed in Fate, but that belief has been long since crushed. However I do believe in judgement. I don't believe that when we die we will simply go to Afterlife and be done with it. Oh no, I believe that we need pay the toll to cross over the river Styx, Rasa or Sanzu, however you may want to call it. I believe that we will meet a judge who will look down upon as and measures our souls - and I believe that the feather of Ma'at is much lighter than human heart. I believe that what goes around comes around. I believe that we reap what we sow. I believe we sleep in the beds we make. I believe we all will get what is coming to us. Most of all I believe in Karma.

- Clay

--

I had a story called "Definition of a Monster" up some time ago, but I deleted it when I realised that I was never going to continue it. If you've read that thing, forget it completely. This story is a different one with same baseline idea but completely different storyline.

My apologies for possible grammar errors and mistakes. English is not my first language and I work poorly with betas. I always use a spellcheck program but those things never pick up the finest mistakes.


	2. I Wary Goblins

**I chapter**

**Wary goblins**

Wizards have handful of strangest assumptions about magical creatures - especially about those they consider Dark. Their notion of what is and isn't Dark and what defines Dark are also very strange, but currently that doesn't occupy my mind as much. The beliefs wizards have about my kind on the other hand do as well as the other beliefs wizard kind maintain about creatures less "human" than them.

Starting with vampires. I do not believe wizards understand my kind at all, but then… they don't really try to either. For centuries they have tried to repel my kind with symbols of a muggle religion, with bundles of vegetables and to this day they think that the easiest way to kill a vampire is to thrust a wooden stake through a vampire's heart - they even make those stakes specifically for that purpose. On top of that, they believe that vampires are all the same, simple minded monsters only living from neck to neck, with only thing in mind. Most believe that all vampires are like animals, lurking in dark forests waiting for victims…

Very few wizards know that there are two distinctive races of vampire. Originally the two races were called Strigoi and Moroi, but these days they are referred as the "living dead" and the "undead". Moroi, the Undead, are unfortunately enough the most well known even though they are the minority. They are the dead vampires who really do only live for blood - not that Moroi can really be called in any way living. They are more like animated corpses with an animal sort of intelligence. They are the vampires that should be and are hunted - mostly by the other race of vampires, my race. We Strigoi, the Living Dead, are refined monsters, if you will. We are the same as humans in any other way than our metabolism and source of nutrients. We think and remember, rejoice and mourn, laugh and cry, love and hate. We are capable of great evil and great good, but so are humans and most definitely so are wizards.

Why some vampires are Strigoi and other Moroi is simple. Moroi died while they were being turned - though a human turned by a Moroi will also turn into a Moroi whether they were left alive or not. Human turned by Strigoi that is left alive also turns into Strigoi. Strigoi are also the only vampires that can give birth - the only vampires that can grow even though we do not age in the same manner as humans. Because of this, there are vampire families. Not all of us are nobles, we are not all Counts and Countesses, but we do have our hierarchy just like wizards have theirs. And in general we Strigoi hate Moroi and have for centuries try to get rid of them.

Garlic doesn't repel us. It irritates us yes, it has a very distinctive and strong scent that doesn't exactly agree with our sense of smell, but is in no way dangerous to us. Crosses of Christianity pose no threat to us either - not since magical humans lost faith and we saw the last of the magical priests. And finally… stake through our hearts will kill us, yes. But how is that a weakness? Stake through a human's heart will kill the human just as it kills us, no difference really. I suppose it comes from our faster rate of healing, to humans it may seem that stake through the heart is the only way to kill us, but it isn't. Bullet through the brain is just as fatal to us and with enough wounds we can bleed to death just as humans can.

The greatest misconception about us is that we lack the ability to do magic. Some of us do, I will credit as much, but then again not all humans are able to perform magic either. Among us there are those who could be considered muggles and those who could be considered wizards. But since Ministry of Magic has for centuries banned the use of vampiric magic, we do not _legally _have means of using magic.

Not that any humans know this, or even care to. They are perfectly content considering us nothing but beasts and vampiric magic has long since been forgotten. It doesn't mean we do not use it, but its effects have been forgotten by wizards. Well, not all perhaps. Wizards still have the notion that vampires can turn naturally into bats, and we haven't sought to repair that misbelief. The only vampire who has ever turned into a bat was Count Drakul, who was a Vampiric wizard and bat Animagus, but that's another tale.

- Clay

-

It was a night no way different than the night before. Outside the streets of muggle London were dark, lit by the flickering light of the streetlamps that hadn't been maintained in a long time. No muggle seemed to have ventured out to the street just outside the famed Leaky Cauldron. It was later in the summer, and the nights were getting dark and cold already, so it was no wonder really.

Inside, however, it was warm even though somewhat dark. Leaky Cauldron never closed its doors, but it seemed much different during the day than during the night. During the day it served mostly witches and wizards, who passed through in large numbers. But during the night rare was the wizard who could be seen among the clientele - after all, night belonged to those who did not wander during the day. Vampires, werewolves, hags, dwarves, even banshees could be seen nursing a drink or polishing a plate in Leaky Cauldron during the night.

To the bartender it was nothing new, it was actually the way he preferred things. The war caused by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had ended over a year ago thanks to the Boy-Who-Lived - bless the child's soul - and things had finally turned normal. During the war, the bar had been almost empty during the night, excluding the occasional shady wizard. With all the suspicion and dread going about, the usual nightly customers had not dared to wander out at all. They had feared persecution, as most of them had tried to stay neutral in the war and had therefore been pressured from both sides. Most of the nightly shops of Diagon Alley, stores that did not open during the daytime, had gone bankrupt because of that.

But things were looking up. Sure, the werewolves still were a bit twitchy - mostly because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had had werewolves in his ranks and therefore the lot of them were still looked upon with slight mistrust - but that was about it. Vampires were back to their former casual strength as they enjoyed a goblet or two of fresh animal blood. Hags were already arguing over their meals of raw meat - even though they did it quietly, it was a good sign. And the sight of lone long haired banshee was definitely a good thing. Banshees were very cautious creatures, she wouldn't have ventured out of her usual shelters if she did not trust it to be safe.

The bartender smiled as he loaded the tray with drinks for the customers. People usually concentrated onto the wizards and how the war had affected them - the losses they had suffered and the risks they had taken - but he knew. Humans weren't the only creatures that had suffered. Vampires had been constantly pressured to take sides - the Dark Lord had, according to the rumours, even tried to blackmail the vampire clans in some manner. Werewolves, already widely persecuted, would probably be under harsh scrutiny for a long time thanks to what some of them had done during the war. Banshees and hags, who had been all but forgotten during the war, had also suffered because of it. The giants in servitude of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had destroyed one of the largest banshee shelters. And people automatically assumed that hags had joined the cause of the Dark Lord just because of their nature.

While the bartender served the drinks to the group of quiet werewolves - two of them were wizards and one was apparently a muggle - he heard the door chime ringing. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a tall black clad person entering the bar. As the person came to light, the bartender saw that he was a vampire - the paleness of his skin and the shadows around his eyes was a definite sign of it. The bartender hadn't seen this vampire before - he prided in knowing most of his nightly customers by their name and this face was unfamiliar to him.

The newcomer looked around in the bar with cool eyes that were not only surrounded by shadows, but by square eyeglasses. He had wild black hair that almost fell to his eyes and stood up from the back. His hands, which were covered in black leather gloves, were holding onto a sleek black cane. It didn't take a genius or a war veteran to see and sense that the black-clad vampire was dangerous.

Still, the bartender approached the newcomer as he approached everyone. "Welcome to Leaky Cauldron, stranger. Looking for a drink?" he asked pleasantly. "We have a fresh supply of animal blood stored…" he trailed away as the vampire turned his cool eyes to him. The bartender had seen dangerous people - and creatures - before, but something in the eyes of this vampire made him shiver.

"No thank you, I am not looking for sustenance," the living dead said calmly. "I have business in Diagon Alley. Would you be kind enough to open the barrier for me?"

"Of course," the bartender quickly nodded, relieved that despite the dangerous atmosphere around the creature, the vampire was polite. The creature was dangerous, no doubt about that, but he wasn't a danger. "Right this way, sir," the bartender motioned towards the door leading to the back alley. The black-clad vampire followed him, the black cane clicking against the wooden floor on his every other step.

"I haven't seen you around here before, sir," the bartender said as they stepped out of the bar and to the small back alley. Quickly he pulled out his wand to open the barrier, long since adjusted to do it for his nightly customers. Most of them didn't have wands for various reasons after all. "Are you new in these parts of the world?"

The vampire glanced at him before turning his eyes to the slowly opening barrier. "One could say that, I suppose," the living dead said and bowed his head slightly at the bartender. "You have my thanks," he said, and stepped through the open barrier and into the nightly Diagon Alley. The bartender looked after him for a moment. The vampire was heading straight towards Gringotts, instead of paying attention any of the shops or the few vendors that only ventured out at night.

"What a businesslike creature," the bartender mused, before closing the barrier and heading back inside.

Out in the street, the vendors took note of the vampire as well. Some of them called after the living dead, trying to tempt the man with their merchandise. Fresh blood, potions that allow a vampire stand sunlight, sun-shielding clothing… but the vampire showed no interest in any of the offers. He merely walked through the alley and to the bank.

The goblin guards flanking the entrance gave the vampire a curious look. Like the bartender, they too prided themselves in remembering every person Gringotts did business with. Goblins by nature had a better memory than most humans, so they did truly remember every face that they had seen. This face was new to them as well - but it was nothing surprising. Since the war Britain had seen plenty of new faces, as people who had fled returned, some bringing their new people with them. It was possible that this vampire was one of those moving in now that it was safe.

The vampire passed them by with a sharp nod of greeting. As the goblins looked after the living dead, they noted that the man paid no attention to the words written to the next set of doors. It made the goblins frown slightly. The poem engraved into the doors was both a warning and a spell and yet it had no effect on the vampire. It meant that the vampire had seen it before and that the spell had already been cast on him.

"Could be that he has come here when he was younger," one of the goblins murmured to another in Gobbledegook. "With these vampires you never know how old they are." The other goblin nodded in agreement as they returned to their posts.

The vampire continued on his way to the main hall, he looked over the counters in search of a goblin that would be free to service him. Unlike during the daytime, the business seemed to be relatively slow now, and most of the counters were free. The goblins were still busy, though. They were writing and reading documents, weighing precious jewels in brass scales or studying them with loupes, counting coins, weighing gold nuggets… things like that. After moment of consideration, the vampire walked to the nearest free counter.

"Excuse me," he said to gain the goblin's attention. The small beast looked up from the book he had been writing and frowned. The vampire met the annoyed look with calm eyes. "I would like to set up a vault and talk with the Head of Gringotts if that would be possible."

Immediately the goblin before him turned suspicious. "Meeting with the Head is not something you simply demand," the creature snapped. "What is your business with her?"

"I am not demanding it, I am intending to pay for it," the vampire assured calmly, taking something from the pocket of his long black coat and laying it down to the table. It was precisely cut colourless jewel. "I'm confident that this should be enough. And my business with the Head is your business only if she deems so. Until that time it's private. I'm sure you understand."

The goblin stared at the diamond for a moment. It was very large, even in Wizarding world seeing large diamonds wasn't something that happened every day. "This merely for a conference with the Head?" the goblin asked and narrowed eyes.

When the vampire simply nodded, the goblin tried to snatch the diamond - only to have it vanish from underneath his long nailed fingers. Looking up he saw that it was in the gloved fingers of the cold eyed living dead. The vampire narrowed his eyes at him. "After the meeting is secured," he said slowly.

With a grimace, the goblin nodded. "I will talk to the Head for you," he grunted, before taking out a parchment sheet from underneath the desk. "Here's the form you need to fill for the vault. You should have enough time to finish it before I return."

"Of course," the vampire agreed as the goblin left. With a slightest snort, the vampire hid the precious stone in his pocket again before taking the feather-pen the beast had been using. Then he began to fill the form for the vault. By the time the goblin returned with another, younger goblin, he had just finished signing the form.

"Dirshowl will take you to the Head," the goblin said to him, motioning at the younger while taking a seat. He held up his hand in demand and with a satisfied nod the vampire handed the diamond over.

"Please have the vault ready by the time the meeting is over," the living dead said as he turned his eyes to the younger goblin. "I would like to be able to take my gold there tonight and be done with my business here with that," he glanced at the elder goblin. "Oh, and please ready a check book for me."

The elder goblin nodded, looking through the form he had filled. "These shouldn't be any problem," he nodded, though he did frown slightly. The vampire had demanded a large vault with medium level protections. That didn't come cheap… but then again, if the living dead was able to pay a diamond for a meeting, then he probably had enough resources to pay for the vault. "It will take few days to get the required wards up, though."

"That won't be a problem, and I trust that my money will be safe regardless," the vampire nodded. "It was pleasure doing business with you," he then said before turning to the younger goblin. After getting a nod from the elder goblin, the younger one began leading the vampire away from the Main Hall and into the corridors where few customers were led. Passing by several gobbling guards, they eventually came to elaborately decorated silver doors that had words written in them in Gobbledegook

"More spells, hm?" the vampire murmured as the young goblin opened the door. The goblin said nothing, merely announced his presence to the person in the office behind the silver doors and waited for permission to allow him in. after getting it, the goblin held the door open for him. With a nod, the vampire passed him by and stepped into the office of the head of the Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

She was an elderly goblin dressed into flaming red clothing and various golden ornaments. As the most powerful goblin in the entire world, she certainly had the right to flaunt her wealth. As the door closed behind the vampire, she looked up from the large book she had been reading. Her eyes were even sharper and colder than the vampire's, and certainly older.

"A vampire, hm? It's not every day a living dead asks for a meeting with goblin of any sort, not to even mention me personally. And you even paid a great deal for it, hm…" the elderly goblin murmured, straightening her back and taking off the silver framed reading glasses from her crooked nose. "Well then, vampire. I'm Ringett, the Head of this Wizarding Bank. What can I do for you?"

The vampire examined her with his eyes for a moment, before reaching inside his coat. She watched impassively even though he could've been reaching for a weapon for all she knew. He wasn't, though. Instead he pulled out a parchment envelope, sealed with red wax. Without saying a word, the vampire handed it to her. After considering it for a moment, Ringett took the letter and looked at the seal. Even though she tried to not show it, the seal shocked her. It was Gringotts coat of arms. The seal it self didn't surprise her, it was the date in it - as a magical seal, the date when the seal was made was always marked in it. In this letter, the September 10th, 2032.

Running her long nailed fingers quickly over the seal, she determined that the seal hadn't been tampered with. It was a true Gringotts seal; somehow the letter had been sealed fifty years into the future. Looking up to the vampire with frown, she found that he was looking at her passively. "Who are you, vampire?" she demanded to know.

"Your successor, Griphook, asked me to give it to you," the vampire said calmly, resting his hands casually on the handle of his black cane. "And as you've no doubt have already realised, I'm from fifty years into the future. My name is Harry James Potter - though from here on I will go by the name Clay." As she tried to conceal her shock to the best of her ability, the living dead nodded towards the letter. "I suggest you read that. It will no doubt answer most of your questions."

Slowly, she turned her attention to the letter. Spending a moment hesitating, Ringett then broke the seal and opened the envelope. The letter inside was long and entirely written in tidy gobbledegook. As she took the letter into her hands, and begun reading, the vampire calmly waited, examining her expression with his dark green eyes. It didn't take her long to read the letter, even though it was rather lengthy, but it took a bit longer for the words to sink in.

"Griphook writes that you are here to prevent this future, and that he gave all the help he could to you. Allowed you to rob most of Gringotts largest vaults!" she then said sharply, dropping the letter to her desk. Then she looked up and met his dark green eyes. "Are you going to _buy_ us a better future?"

"Of course not," the vampire answered. "But that is how I will start."

"And you expect my help?" Ringett narrowed her eyes.

"No, I don't," the living dead shook his head. "I expect you to be informed - and not get in my way. I expect Gringotts to do what it has always done in disputes like this. Maintain its neutrality."

The goblin blinked slowly, hiding her surprise poorly. "You don't want my allegiance?"

"As long as you don't form alliances between Gringotts and the Wizards, you serve my goals best as neutral party," the vampire nodded.

"After reading this there is no way I would ever side with wizards. We've had enough trouble as it is," the Head of Gringotts motioned at the letter and frowned. After moment of thinking, she nodded. "I will keep Gringotts neutral during the following years and I will take no part in whatever you are planning to do. But I would like to be kept informed. That way I will know to keep the distance."

"I will make sure you will know what you need to know," the vampire nodded. "Now to business. I require an estate, I'm sure Gringotts is in possession of few suitable ones."

"Estate?" Ringett quickly turned businesslike. "What sort of estate are you looking for?"

"Large one in some mountain side, preferably a place where extensive mining is possible. I would also prefer it to be a place that can be turned unplottable without much… difficulty," the living dead said. "A castle and underground village will be built there."

The goblin looked at him curiously. "I guess you won't be wasting any time in your preparations then. Very well. I will see if there are any suitable estates of that sort in possession of this bank. If you would wait a moment, I will fetch the goblin in charge of estates."

"Of course," the vampire nodded. As the goblin left the office, she couldn't help but feel that the world was standing on the brink of a change. And the vampire renamed as Clay would be the one to push the world over the edge - for better or for worse.

--

In case it wasn't clear, this is takes place in the year 1982, around middle of September (which means that Harry Potter is currently two years old). Strigoi and Moroi come from Romanian Mythology but I used them all wrong so don't mind them, those definitions won't be used again anyway. If you're really curious about them, you can go search Wikipedia. Also, I know most people put "Ragnok" as the president, leader, king or whatever of goblins and Gringotts. It might be that he is, but it was never actually said in the books so I took some artistic liberties. Just to be different from most fanfic writers, I went with a female goblin. "Clay" is and will be out of "Harry Potter" character for various reasons that won't be discussed now.

This chapter was glanced over by my muse, Cody Thomas, for worse mistakes and such. But if there's still some there then I offer my apologies. And thank you very much for the reviews.


	3. II Wounded Werewolf

**II chapter**

**Wounded werewolf**

Werewolves, another greatly feared race of dark creatures, are also greatly misjudged. Since, unlike us vampires, werewolves are still in a way considered wizards, magical world knows more about them. They can identify them easier, they have even ways of subduing the werewolf nature via the Wolfsbane potion. But… that doesn't mean wizards know all of them. Or that wizards do not have stupidest beliefs of them.

Wizards usually tend to think that human being that loses their mind during three nights per month due to a curse cannot be in any way safe. Even if there are over twenty-five other days in a month except for the three days of full moon, they can't possibly be save even then. Also, a man with the curse of Lycanthropy is obviously dark and evil just as his curse, and since there is no true cure… On top of these stupid prejudices, there is the so called "common knowledge". That werewolves are animals that even fight their own kind if they can. And that even werewolves avoid others of their kind - that they only combine forces under some evil motive, like to serve some greater evil, a dark lord perhaps.

Wolves are pack animals - very refined pack animals at that. And just like their less-human counterparts, werewolves too are refined in their own way. They have their own body language very similar to that of wolves. They have their society, their packs, and within those packs they have social structure, from alpha to omega

Every wolf and every werewolf has their place in the pack. Each pack has their alpha male and alpha female - and unlike you may think, they are not the leaders but the guardians and protectors of their packs. Alpha male guides the males of the pack and alpha female guides the females. And unlike many think, alpha male is in no way more powerful than alpha female and often the two alphas are a couple. Beta male and female, the seconds in command, care for the pack when the alphas are away, and usually are very close to the alphas - often even surrogate mothers and fathers to the children of the alphas.

The ranking in the pack is often determined by strength. The strongest are the alpha, after them come the beta, after them come the gamma and so forth and so forth. The werewolves can, and often do, challenge each other for the rank. Like wolves, werewolves too determine the strength by fighting. The winner gets the rank and the loser is demoted. Even the alphas aren't safe from this, if a werewolf challenges them and they loose, they won't be alphas no more. And of course, the higher ranks dominate the lower ranks.

And as it usually is, every pack has it's weakest. The omega, the lowest ranking member in the pack, the one werewolf who dominates no one and is submissive to everyone else. Omega gets most aggression from the pack, and is often harassed and even abused by the rest of the pack. This way the omega relieves the tension of the pack, one way or another.

These packs do not form between werewolves when they are transformed, no. They form between human form werewolves and usually pack bonds last for life. There are some loner werewolves who either haven't been able to join a pack or have been exiled from one, but these sorts are rare since werewolves generally favour the protection that pack offers. Lone werewolf with no protection of a pack is vulnerable to all sorts of discrimination - even omega position is preferred to that.

- Clay

-

It was almost morning when the dangerous looking black haired vampire returned to Leaky Cauldron. By that time the other vampires and the banshee had already left and the hags had retreated to their rooms. The werewolves were still there, waiting for the morning paper and for the daytime shops to open. As the bartender cleared way the goblets used by the other vampires, he noticed that instead of heading out straight away, the darkly dressed vampire sat down to one of the tables with some papers.

"I guess your business in Gringotts had been finished then?" the bartender, who couldn't help but be curious about the vampire, tried to strike a conversation.

"Yes, for now," the vampire nodded, taking off his glasses as he raised one of the parchments to read it. The coat of arms in the lower corner of the scroll marked it as official Gringotts document. "Could I have a goblet of blood? Chicken's blood, if you have any."

"Right away, sir," the bartender nodded, feeling a bit relieved. The sort of vampires that never ordered anything were the most dangerous types - after all, if they don't drink animal blood, they drank human blood. And the fact that this vampire had a preferred type of animal blood was also a good sign - he wasn't drinking it just because of the lack of human blood.

After fetching and delivering the blood, the bartender spoke up. "Is there anything else you might be needing, Mr…?" he looked at the vampire curiously, hoping to get a name to go along with the face.

"Clay," the vampire said while undressing his gloves. He had pale, long fingered hands, but unlike with most vampires, his nails were short. As he took the goblet of blood to his right hand, he had a thoughtful look about his pale face. "And, hmm… maybe you could help me with something."

"What you might be needing then, Mr Clay?" the bartender asked, taking a seat. "And I'm Tom, by the way. Just Tom with no Misters and such."

"Tom," the vampire nodded, accepting the familiarity. "I just recently purchased an estate from the goblins and I'm looking to build something. Yet I don't know much about building or any people who would be good at that sort of thing…" he looked at the parchments before him. "I was hoping you might be able to advise me."

"Well, it depends on what you're building I guess," Tom mused thoughtfully. "There are some wizards I know who are good with their hands - Gareth Weasley, I hear, is very good at building things… Though if you want make something to last, something out of stone perhaps, I would suggest you ask the dwarves. There are no builders like dwarves after all. Dwarves and goblins. Both are expensive to hire, though."

"Hmm…" the vampire nodded. "I figured as much. I think I'd rather go with dwarves. Do you know how I could get a hold of them, make a deal with them perhaps?"

"I know few, I could send a word to them for you, Mr Clay, arrange a meeting perhaps," the bartender scratched his cheek. "They're not leaders of their kind or anything like that, but with dwarves no one really is. They're lead by precious metals and stones after all."

Clay nodded. "I would appreciate if you would put a word out for me. Please be sure to tell them that I pay well for well done job, even more if they can get it done quickly. I'm not cheap." He raised the goblet and took a sip. "Another matter that bothers me is the warding. You wouldn't happen to know any Ward-makers?"

"I know plenty, Mr Clay. I know few who are in the employment of the Ministry of Magic and couple freelancers," Tom nodded. "The Ministry employees are bit more expensive - Ministry takes their percentage of the prices of course - but they are also more skilled than the freelancers. Though, freelancers tend to know a trick or two that can be considered more or less unusual…" he shrugged. "Something to make their wards unique, I guess."

"Everyone wants to leave their signature to the things they create," the vampire nodded with understanding. "I suppose I won't be needing the services of the ward-makers until the foundations have been finished, so I'm not in as much of a hurry with that, but if you could put a word out I would be thankful."

Tom nodded. "Of course. How can I contact you in the case the dwarves want to talk with you, Mr Clay?"

"I don't know yet," the vampire frowned. "I hadn't really thought about it. Maybe I should stay in Leaky Cauldron for a while… Do you have a room free?"

"Of course. Do you want to book a room?" Tom asked with surprise. Vampires usually didn't stay at inns. Preferred not to rest in unfamiliar places.

"Yes, I think that would suit my needs best right now," the vampire nodded with a slightest frown. "I didn't even stop to think that I have no place to sleep at day. Foolish of me, but we all slip at times," he shook his head and drained rest of his blood. Then he took out satchel from underneath his coat, taking out some Galleons. "This should be enough for the room for a week or two and the blood, I think."

"More than enough, sir," Tom nodded with shock. Either the vampire wasn't that familiar with British money or he was very wealthy and tipped generously.

"Keep the rest," Clay nodded. He motioned at the documents before him. "Could you take these scrolls to my room then? I would like to drop by somewhere before I head to bed."

"Yes, of course Mr Clay," the bartender quickly brushed his hands against his robes to clean them before he gathered the probably very important scrolls from the table. "I'll see to it that you will get a good room. How long do you think you will be out?"

"I'm sure that there is no such thing as bad room here," the vampire shook his head as he stood, taking the cane, which had been leaning to the table, to his hand. "And I should be back before dawn."

"Very good, sir. I will have the room waiting for you," Tom nodded. Clay nodded with satisfaction and headed towards the door. Mildly surprised that the man wasn't using the fireplace, the bartender headed back to the counter to check what rooms he had free. To his relief he found that one of the best rooms of the house was free, he quickly marked it down for the living dead.

Outside, the dark clad vampire was planning to find some dark, hidden corner where he could Disapparate, when a moist breeze carried a sharp scent of blood to his nose. Stopping to sniff the air, Clay frowned. It was not only human blood, but it had slight wolfish under-smell. Werewolf blood. Taking a tighter hold of the cane, the vampire turned to follow the scent to it's origin. It came from one of the street's many alcoves where wizards and witches Apparated when they wanted to get to Leaky Cauldron.

The vampire frowned at the sight of the man leaning heavily against the dirty wall. The man was young with light brown hair and ragged, much suffered brown robes. He had bruises all over his face and trail of blood running down from the corner of his lips. The smell of blood surrounding the man told the vampire that these were only few of his wounds.

"You've gotten quite a beating, haven't you?" Clay murmured. He was mildly surprised when the young man raised his head - he had thought that the young werewolf was unconscious. The look in the young man's eyes wasn't all that alert though. Even if Clay hadn't seen the man's wounds, the look of the man's eyes told him that the man was tired, fatigued and in pain. As the vampire begun see familiarity in the bruised features he was forced to bite back a gasp of shock.

"Help…" the young man wheezed quietly.

"Yes, yes, of course," Clay murmured with a frown, directing his concentration away from the werewolf's face. He hung the cane to the belt of his jacket, before crouching down. He was at first going to help the man to stand, maybe support him long enough to take him inside the inn, but the attempt proved to be a failure. So instead he simply wiggled his hands around the young werewolf, and hoisted the man up. For a vampire, the man wasn't heavy at all.

"I guess you Apparated here in hopes of getting help at Leaky Cauldron, hm?" he murmured while turning back towards the entrance of the bar. "You should've gone to St. Mungos, lad."

"Don't help… my sort," the young man rasped, his head laying limply against Clay's shoulder. "Not after the war."

"Ah, of course," Clay murmured with a mild frown. He turned his body a bit so that he could push the door of the Leaky cauldron open with his shoulder and not hurt the werewolf whilst doing so. Then he stepped inside, where the werewolves immediately picked up the scent of blood - and their kin - and stood up. The other werewolves were quick to approach him.

"What happened?" the first one of them quickly asked, looking at the young werewolf worriedly. This werewolf much older than the beaten younger one, old enough to be called elderly even. He was dressed into dark blue robes which for a werewolf were in good state. His companions too were dressed surprisingly well considering the fact that they were werewolves.

"I don't know, he lay in alcove near by," Clay said. "I guess he came here, looking for help. Tom?" he looked around to see if the bartender was near by. Immediately the worried wizard walked closer. "My room? I have some healing potions that will help him, but he should lay down first." When the other werewolves looked at him suspiciously, he quickly added. "You can come too."

"Right this way, Mr Clay," the bartender quickly gathered the vampire's documents from the counter and begun leading them towards upstairs. Clay followed him and one of the werewolves, the one who had spoken up, followed him. Tom led them to one of the rooms, and opened the door. "Should I bring something, water, maybe towels to clean him up?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful," Clay nodded, carrying the now almost completely unconscious young man to the bed. "Make the water warm and if you have any gauze, that would be useful too," he said while laying the man down. Then he glanced the other werewolf. "Help me get this clothes off so we can see how bad the damage is."

As Tom headed to gather the supplies, Clay and the other werewolf undressed the badly beaten young man. The young werewolf's entire torso was full of bruises, and so were his hips and legs. By the look of the bright bruising around his ribs, he had broken few of them. "He might have some internal bleeding and his voice was rather wheezy so he might have some blood in his lungs…" Clay murmured. "I think I have something for his ribs and general bruising and cuts but I can't do much for the internal bleeding if he has some."

"He's a werewolf and young at that, he might be able to heal that on his own," the elder werewolf murmured with a worried frown. "But the broken ribs are another thing."

Clay nodded and quickly pulled up a shrunken item. The werewolves eyes widened slightly as the vampire motioned his hand over the shrunken box, immediately engorging it to it's actual size. The other man said nothing, though, as Clay opened the leather box to reveal it to be full of potions phials. Taking two of them, the vampire turned back to the young werewolf.

"One potion for broken bones, and another to enhance his general healing ability. That could be enough," the vampire murmured, as he raised the young man's head to feed the potions to him. Clay glanced at the other werewolf. "There's a small green jar in the box. It's healing salve. Applied directly to the bruises it will heal them."

"Alright," the werewolf nodded and fetched the salve. As the vampire forced the unconscious young man to consume the potions, the elder werewolf begun applying the salve to the bruises.

By the time Tom returned with the water, towels and the gauze, the young werewolf was looking much better. Some of the bruising was gone thanks to the salve and the worse ones had decreased in size. It would take a moment for the healing potions to take effect, but it was easy to tell that the young man was in much better shape.

With the help of the elder werewolf, Clay cleaned the young man up and bandaged his chest since the ribs weren't yet completely healed. Then they turned to look at the young man's clothing. They were all dirty and ripped.

"I could clean and fix these up," the barkeeper suggested, looking at the ragged robes. "I'm pretty good at sewing."

"That would be very kind of you, Tom," Clay nodded with gratitude while performing a last check-up on the unconscious man. "It will probably take him few hours to wake up," he murmured pulling the covers over the unconscious young man. "Though he looks like he definitely needs his rest."

"I wonder what happened to him?" the elder werewolf frowned. "He's just a kid."

"He's a werewolf. And since he came to Leaky Cauldron of all places in search for help, he's alone," Clay glanced at the other lycanthrope. "You should know that your kind isn't looked upon kindly right now."

The man smiled bitterly. "Ain't that the truth," he muttered. Then he smiled to the vampire, holding his hand out. "My name is Lyall Lygurgus. It's a pleasure to meet a living dead who would help one of my kind."

"You can call me Clay," the vampire shook the werewolf's hand with a nod. "And I only did what any sensible person would've done. Sadly, it seems like sensible people are rarity in this world," he turned to look at the young man sleeping on the bed he had rented and shook his head. "Best to let him rest. He looks like he needs it."

"Yes, you're right," Lygurgus nodded and headed out of the room with Tom following him. Clay closed his box of potions and shrunk it with a motion of his hand before slipping it back to his pocket. Then he followed the two other men, closing the door behind him. Outside Lygurgus was waiting. "Just out of curiosity, do you know that young man or did you really help a total stranger?"

"Little bit of both," Clay answered calmly while unhooking his cane from his belt. "I know of him, I suppose," he answered as they headed back downstairs. "His name is Remus Lupin. That's about as much as I can tell, though."

"I understand," the werewolf nodded. As they stepped back to the bar, he signalled his companions that everything was alright. "Would you like to join me and my companions for a drink?"

Clay considered this, glancing at the window. Outside the sky seemed to have gained colour. Dawn was raising. "I guess I could. It's getting a bit too late for me to venture out anymore," he murmured and glanced at Tom. "You wouldn't happen to have another room? I can pay for them both, of course."

"Of course, there's another free one just beside the one where the lad is sleeping," the bartender nodded. "Shall I book that one for you, Mr Clay?"

"It will work perfectly, thank you Tom. And bring me another goblet of chicken's blood while you're at it, would you?" Clay asked before following Lygurgus to the table where the other werewolves, both whom were younger than greying Lygurgus, sat. "I guess the three of you belong in same pack?" Clay asked as he sat down, surprising all three.

"Well, it depends how you define pack," Lygurgus murmured. "Connor and Randolf are, well, my adopted sons," he motioned the wizard werewolf and then the muggle werewolf. "Connor was disowned when he was bitten and Randolf was orphaned when he received his bite. I one way or another ended up collecting them as my own," he grimaced. "I guess one way to look at us would be a pack, but we've never really looked at it like that."

Clay blinked with surprise. "That's… incredibly kind of you. It couldn't have been easy for you, taking care of werewolf children while dealing with your own lycanthropy," he looked up as the barkeeper brought him his drink. Pulling out his coin satchel, he quickly paid for the blood and for the extra room. "Thank you Tom."

"It wasn't easy, but we get by," Lygurgus murmured, smiling to the younger werewolves. "It's definitely getting a bit easier now that the war is over. It was one continuous nightmare before that. Now if only people would realise that even though one pack of wolves allied itself with You-Know-Who it doesn't mean we all would."

Clay nodded. "Once people get more adjusted to the idea of peace, I'd imagine they will ease up a little."

"I wish I could be as optimistic," the elderly werewolf murmured. "In my years I've only seen the prejudice and oppression get a bit worse every time they brush the dust off their laws…"

The vampire and the three werewolves chatted until it got lighter outside. Before the sun arose, Clay bid his farewell to the werewolves and headed upstairs, wondering if he would meet them again. Lygurgus had certainly the right sort of mind for what he had planned - it was hard enough for a werewolf to feed one mouth so it took something very special for a loner werewolf to take in other werewolves. The living dead shook his head and decided to think of it in the evening.

As he passed by the door where the young man was resting, he heard a pained groan. Stopping with a slight frown, he pulled out the key Tom had given him, and opened the door. Inside, the young werewolf was sitting in the bed, hand resting on his bandaged ribs.

"You shouldn't be moving, lad," Clay said with a frown, stepping into the room. the young werewolf looked up with alarm on his face, and the visage of Clay didn't seem to calm him down. "Easy there, I'm not going to hurt you," the vampire assured, stepping forward. "And you should lay down. Moving won't help your ribs any."

"What… who are you?" the young wizard asked tiredly, but seemed to calm just a little bit as he realised that Clay wasn't going to attack him.

"You may call me Clay. I found you from outside Leaky Cauldron good hour or so ago," the vampire said, and took few steps forward now that the young man seemed to have calmed down. "I gave you healing potions and managed to heal most of your bruises with some healing salve, but I guess you still ache a bit." When the young werewolf didn't seem to get more alarmed, the vampire stepped beside the bed and carefully guided him back to laying position. "You should rest. You're not completely well yet."

"I don't feel well," the young man admitted with a tired look. "Why… did you help me?"

"Because," Clay answered, sitting down to the edge of bed and placing his cane to lean against the wall. He pulled the covers back over the werewolf's bandaged torso. "You should get some rest. Or are you hungry? I could ask Tom to bring you something to eat…"

"Food sounds nice…" the wounded werewolf mumbled, already nodding off.

Clay watched him as he fell asleep and sighed. "I'll have Tom check on you now and then and bring you something to eat when you wake up again," he said, standing up. "Sleep lad. You need it."

--

Gah, I had forgotten this story too and then someone reviewed it and reminded me of it's exitance. I'm getting forgetful. I tried to get Clay's "start of chapter rant" as accurate as possible, trying to base the supposed werewolf pack hierarchy solidly on actual wolf backs... But my information source is mainly wikipedia and wikipedia is not competely accurate. DeathGodGirl asked about "Dhampirs"... There are no dhampirs in this, not like in anime "D" and such, but there are half and part vampires. Oh, and currently Remus is 22 years old, incase someone was wondering. Also I may have forsaken the plans for slash in this one.


	4. III Forgotten Saviour

**III chapter**

**Forgotten saviour**

Someone once said; "Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty." Sometimes I wish I wouldn't agree with those words so much. But as I look around myself, I cannot see anything but evidence that stands in defence to those words. Vampire children scared to death of the word "hunter". Werewolves without enough money to feed themselves. Banshees driven into lives of outcasts. Hags hated for what few of their kind did hundreds of years ago. House elves beaten by the masters they serve. Goblins persecuted and constantly oppressed, cheated by the law that is supposed to stand for everyone…

Muggleborn witches and wizards are led to this world with smiles and promises of fantasy. Joyously they leave their former lives behind and embrace the wand and the might it comes with. In the halls of Hogwarts they learn wondrous, miraculous things they never thought possible…

I wonder if they would be that happy if they knew that great part of the wizardry world hates them for existing and for ever entering their world? That they will forced to stand slander and prejudice as long as they try to remain in the wizardry world? That their chances of getting a job after school are almost nonexistent? That they will no doubt be always pushed aside in favour of someone's relative?

Hogwarts is fun, even for a muggleborn. But Hogwarts is just a school - and the life that awaits young witches and wizards afterwards is quite different.

All this happens, all this is part of the every day life of magical world, because superstition. It's a strange word when you put it in this context, but it fits well. Superstition is an irrational belief arising from ignorance or fear, and that is exactly what is wrong with the wizardry world. Pureblood wizards, so high and mighty, are both ignorant and fearful. They are ignorant of the ways of _muggles_, and they loathe _muggles_ simply for not being wizards, for being different and strange. They fear the creatures they labelled as _beast_, _non_-_human_, _half_-_human_ and most of all _dark_, and loathe them for being whatever they are, whatever makes them so scary.

When you think about it, the purebloods of today are no way different from the muggles of the ages of the witch hunts. It's just backwards this time. And what makes it truly frightening as that these superstitious hunters have mightier weapons than torches at their disposal.

- Clay

-

When Clay woke up the following evening, the young werewolf he had more or less picked up in the previous night was up and about. Or more precisely, he was down in the bar, sitting at the counter and talking with Tom. As Clay approached them he felt slightest bit of annoyance at the thought that the young werewolf was already walking around. He didn't let it show and didn't say anything, though. He knew how it felt to lay around in sick bed when you weren't actually all that sick.

"Mr Clay, good evening. Young Remus here woke up again just half an hour ago too," Tom greeted him with a smile while the young werewolf stiffened slightly in his seat. Tom, if he noticed this, ignored it. "Did you have a good rest? Was the room suitable?"

"Yes, my rest was pleasant and I have certainly slept in worse places," the living dead nodded as he took seat between the young werewolf. After setting his cane down to lean against his bench, he rested his hands on the counter "Would you be kind enough to get me a goblet of blood, Tom? Cow's, if you have it."

"Right away, sir," the bartender nodded, going to fetch the order.

The vampire turned his eyes to the young werewolf. There was still sings of beating on the young man's face, but they certainly weren't as severe as they had been last night. "I trust you are feeling better after resting?" Clay said, decided to make no note of the young man being out of bed too early. He wasn't the boy's guardian, it wasn't his place.

"Yes, I do. Thank you sir," the young man murmured quietly, staring at the cup of broth he had before him. "… for taking care of me."

"Think nothing of it," Clay said calmly, his eyes settling on the broth. "Surely that is not all you're going to eat?" when Remus blushed and didn't look up, the vampire tuned his eyes away. "I see," he murmured and looked up to the returning bartender. He accepted the goblet the man handed to him with a nod. "Thank you Tom. Now could you bring some proper food for the lad? I'll pay for it, of course." He glanced at the werewolf. "And make it plenty."

"Of course, sir," the innkeeper seemed pleased to hear his request. "It'll take but a moment."

Clay nodded his gratitude and watched Tom go again. As he raised his goblet to take a sip, Remus raised his head with a slight frown. "You didn't need to do that, sir. You don't need to waste your money on me, sir." He didn't meet Clay's eyes though, keeping them on the counter as if not daring to look at the vampire.

The vampire levelled the young man with knowing look. "It is my money, I think I can decide what to, as you put it, waste it on. I'd rather waste it on you than watch you waste away before my very eyes, lad," he snorted slightly and reached for the day's issue of Daily Prophet that lay folded on the counter. "I could spend my entire life buying meals to you and I wouldn't even notice the expenditure. So there's nothing to worry."

The young man's frown darkened. "So just because you have lot of money it's right to throw it away, sir?" he asked almost sharply, but still somehow keeping his words mellow.

"Throw it away? Heavens, no. I use it as I see fit. And I see it fit that people around me do not starve. It's as simple as that," Clay answered calmly as he examined the front page of the newspaper. "If you had the money and I was the hungry one, would you consider it waste to feed me?"

This time Remus actually looked up with mild surprise, before looking away again. The vampire hummed with satisfaction, certain that he had gotten his point through. Soon after Tom came back with a tray loaded with food. "Eat, lad," Clay simply said, and the werewolf did as was told with little hesitation.

"Anything interesting in the paper, sir?" Tom asked while taking a rag and cleaning some dirtiest glasses sitting at the counter. He had probably read the paper before, but hearing second opinion could always be interesting. It could be that the man just wanted to break the silence, though.

"Couldn't say," Clay murmured, frowning a little at something marking the lower right corner of the paper. Mention of werewolves that had served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Opening the paper the vampire quickly leafed to the page where the article was. Apparently people were demanding that the monsters in the Dark Lord's servitude would be found and punished. But the Ministry were having trouble in doing that because apparently the Dark Lord's monsters hadn't been marked.

The vampire narrowed his eyes. He couldn't help but wonder if even Voldemort had been unwilling to mark "half-breed monsters" as his own. Light feared and often hated the "dark creatures" even when the beasts did their very best to be good and proper and when they turned completely evil, even dark did not accept them as their own. There seemed to be no grey area, no neutral ground.

"You didn't happen to have a word with your dwarf acquaintances, Tom?" Clay asked without looking up from the paper. He wanted the builders working quickly, whoever those builders would be.

"Not yet, sir," the bartender frowned slightly. "But if you want, I can send few letters for you."

"That would be very helpful of you," the vampire nodded and closed the paper before pushing it away from his person. There was no real hurry yet with his plans, but he wanted start already. No hurry didn't mean that he had time to waste. With a slight frown he raised his goblet and took a sip. There were so many things to do and limited time to do it. "Are you in anyone's employment, lad?"

"Huh?" Remus looked up with surprise and quickly swallowed the food in his mouth. "Do I have a job? No. I don't. I've been trying to look for one, but… uh…"

"But they don't hire one such as you that readily," Clay nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. I will eventually need an assistant - not quite yet, but soon. Should you be interested, I think you might suit the job."

"Assistant?" the young werewolf seemed dumbstruck. "Um… what would I have to do? I've never been anyone's assistant before, so…"

"In the beginning I'd imagine you running after me and trying to keep track of things," Clay mused, taking a sip of from his goblet. "After I'll start needing a hand, you will provide me that hand. And eventually we'll see what you are best suited to do…. and then you do it. Nothing major," he glanced at the werewolf who seemed to be of two minds at the proposal. "I don't expect you to be skilled, Mr Lupin. You will learn on the job, sort of speak."

"It's not a bad deal, lad," Tom said softly. "Mr Clay's a good man."

"You flatter me, Tom," the vampire offered a slight nod and sipped the blood again. "Whether you agree to do it or not, for now I want you to eat, rest and heal. That should be your priority." After a moment of silence, he looked at the young werewolf. "Though… I would like to know what happened to you, what ended you in that state I found you in."

Remus looked away with a frown, fiddling the fork and knife nervously in his fingers. Then he glanced up to Tom with look of uncertainty. The bartender seemed to realise his worry immediately. "Why don't I leave you two to discuss this in private," Tom offered pleasantly, not a least bit worried about not being included. Humming to himself, the man walked away to clean the tables.

"It's not that big of a deal, but he's probably a gossip and I don't want word of this going around," Remus murmured. "Private matter and all…" he hesitated for a moment before looking at the vampire beside him. There was a bitter smile on his lips. "One could say I ran into bad crowd."

"Yes, I did draw that conclusion," Clay mused, looking him from head to toe. "I have feeling that you're more than familiar with this bad crowd."

"It was the pack of the man who bit me," the young werewolf sighed, now clutching onto the eating utensils tightly. "He, uh… when I was little, my dad and that man, Fenrir, they had some sort of argument. My dad offended him, and in retaliation Fenrir… he waited around our house during the next full moon and bit me as revenge. I hear he does it often, planning every full moon, trying to make sure he'll bit as many as he can. Especially children…"

The young man's shoulders hunched slightly as the vampire frowned at him. "Fenrir is the alpha of his pack and everyone in his pack is more or less like him," Remus continued quietly. "I ran into them, and Fenrir remembered me. He, uh… decided to keep me as the omega of the pack. As a something to play with 'now that things had gotten boring again', he said. It took me two days to get away."

"Men like him keep us dark creatures in bad reputation," Clay murmured and Remus nodded quietly. With a sigh the vampire raised his goblet. "Where did you meet up with them?" he asked before taking a sip.

"In Great Hangleton," Remus frowned. "Why do you want to know?"

"Out of curiosity," the vampire said simply. After draining the goblet dry, the vampire sat up, leaving some coins to the desk. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the bartender and raised his voice. "I'll be heading out now, but I should be back well before dawn. See that Mr Lupin rests, would you Tom? He's not well yet."

"I'll see to it, Mr Clay," the innkeeper nodded while the young werewolf frowned with a hint of sourness on his face. "I'll send a word of you to my acquaintances as well."

"You have my gratitude," Clay said while pulling his gloves on and taking his cane. Then, with nod, he turned around and headed towards the door leading to muggle London. The innkeeper and the young werewolf looked after him.

"Why does he care?" Remus then asked with confusion as Tom returned to the counter. "Shouldn't people like him be occupying their minds with more important matters than riffraff's like me?"

"You can't fit a vampire into a mould of human or expect them to act as humans do, young Remus. Vampires tend to prefer to go about things in their own way and style," Tom shook his head. "And as for why… I think it's simply because he can."

Outside, Clay did what he had planned to do in the night before when he had run into Remus. He found a hidden spot, and Dissapparated. There were many things he needed to see and check but thankfully the night was young and he had time.

Mere moments afterwards - but many miles away - a dark street, flanked by tidy identical houses at each side, was approached by unusual visitor. A black cat with cool dark green eyes made his way down the clean sidewalk. He glanced the houses to see their numbers until he came about the one he was looking for. There he stopped and stared at the house, one identical but still so very different from the other houses of the street.

After a moment of staring the square shaped two story house, the cat glanced around. His ear twitched in search for sounds before it begun walking up the gravel driveway. Directing his steps towards the lawn, he slipped amongst the flowers planted underneath a large window. Coming to the window, the cat sat up on his hind legs to look through it.

The sight of rather large man watching television in the lounge area made him lay his ears back. With narrowed eyes the cat glanced around the lounge room, before stepping back and sitting down. After a moment of sitting he laid down to the ground, settling his head upon his paws and tucking his tail around himself. Then he waited in silence.

About half an hour later, he was roused from his light sleep. The sounds coming from the house had halted - the television had been turned off. Raising his head the cat quickly stretched before raising to his hind legs again to see. The fat man was heading away from the now dark lounge area. Light was still on in the hall, though, and the cat could hear the sounds of the man moving in the bathroom. Soon after, the lights were turned off in the hall, and the fat man headed upstairs.

After moment of waiting the cat left the window, slipped through the flowers and to the front door. Looking at it for a moment, he turned his gleaming eyes to the letterbox and sighed. It was awfully small… but he was very agile. He was a bit worried about making too much noise though. After a moment of thinking, the cat glanced around again. To his relief he noticed that the kitchen window was slightly ajar. It wasn't difficult at all to jump up to the window and slip silently to the kitchen counter. From there he jumped down to the floor and made his way to the hallway.

Shaking his head, the cat glanced around in the dark hall. Then, silent as shadow, he walked over the carpet and to the stairs - or more precisely, to the door leading to the cupboard under them. With his nose he pried the door open and slipped inside. In the cupboard in a small cot lay a two year old boy with messy black hair. Jumping up to the cot and sitting down beside the boy, the cat stared down to his restful face. The boy was deep asleep, clutching onto ragged blanket with his pale, bony shoulder peaking out from the loose collar of his entirely too big shirt.

There was steel in the cat's dark green eyes as he gazed at the boy. The cat took in everything, the slightest redness at the boy's cheek that told a tale of recent bruise. The thinness of his neck and shoulder and how he seemed to lack anything even remotely baby-fat like. The too big clothing, the sorry excuse of a blanket, the complete the lack of pillow… There were no toys or personal possessions in the cupboard; instead the boy was kept company by a mop and a bucket.

As the cat headed away from the house some time later, he knew that even soonest possible date would be little bit too late. Nothing could be done yet, though, but he was going to make sure that soonest date wouldn't be too far away.

In a dark spot of the street the cat vanished and was replaced with a pale faced man with wild hair. Clay glanced after him and shook his head. "I'd take you away now if I had a place to take you to, Harry Potter. But soon…" he murmured, his glove covered fingers gripping a sturdy hold on his cane. He hesitated for a moment before turning and fading into the night.

Later when the vampire's steps led back towards Leaky Cauldron, he had visited many places and planned many plans. First thing he would pay attention would be construction of his castle and what would lie underneath it. He wouldn't be truly able to move in the world before he had a place to move from and place to fall back to should his moves prove to be futile.

"Mr Clay," Tom greeted him when he entered. "You're back already. I trust your business, whatever it was, went well?"

"For now things are to my satisfaction," Clay nodded as he glanced over the bar. Apparently the nightly customers had already headed out, as the morning had already begun approaching. "Mr Lupin is not here," he noticed.

"The lad's resting," Tom said. "Took me a moment to convince him that it would be the best for him to lie down, but he finally did. Fell asleep almost immediately after. Young Remus tries to play it down, but he probably hasn't been resting all that well, or at all, lately."

"Yes, that might very well be true. Best for the lad to rest and regain his strength after what he has been trough," the vampire nodded. "Did you sent a word to the dwarves, Tom?"

"Yes, I did sir," the bartender nodded. "I should be getting the answer around next day, I hope."

"Good, that's good to hear," Clay relaxed slightly as he walked to the counter to take a seat. He placed his cane down to lean against his leg and undressed his gloves. Rubbing his fingers together briefly to try and warm them, he looked up to the bartender. "Could I have something to drink? Chicken, if you please."

"Of course." After getting the blood for the vampire, the bartender leaned his elbows to the counter. "What do you have planned for young Remus, Mr Clay? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Clay hummed, taking the goblet to his hand. It was marvellous how fresh the blood was despite the fact that its original owner had probably died weeks ago. Magical containment charms were really a blessing, especially with item such as blood that went bad very quickly. "Like I told to him, I will eventually need an assistant. I think Mr Lupin will suit that position well - once he heals that is," he sipped the blood. "That way I can keep him out of harms way as well."

"You care for the lad already sir?"

"It's not as much caring for him personally as caring for his kind generally," the vampire mused. "Young loner werewolf with no one turn to and no place to go to... they get bullied and borderline abused so very easily - especially during times like this. Not to mention the fact that he probably won't get a job all that easily. I have the means and the need to hire him, so I offered."

"That is very kind of you, sir. Very kind indeed," Tom nodded with admiration in his face. "Not many would extend such an offer to a total stranger."

"Just what he is makes him familiar to me," Clay shook his head with a slight frown. "I've seen… too many like him. Entirely too many."

"Haven't we all," the bartender murmured. "Sadly… very few of those who see care."

"Hmm…" the living dead hummed and nodded, turning his eyes to his goblet. Very few cared now and even less would care in the future, unless something was done about it. But, fortunately enough, he was going to do something. That was why he had come back in time after all.

--

Man I suck. I've written plenty of chapters for this story long ago, but I haven't uploaded them. And now, long since I lost the interest to write this story, I remember them - and the wonderful people who have this story on their watch list and who have reviewed. I'm the worst. The least I can do is upload the chapters I have. So I'll just do that. Maybe I'll even get the old spark again somewhere along the way, that'd be nice. I liked this story a lot.

And for those wondering about the slash thing: it was never meant to be between Clay and Remus, even though they are the main characters.


	5. IV Scheming dwarves

**IV chapter**

**Scheming dwarves**

Wizards don't generally like to think about dwarves. I'm not entirely sure where this comes from, but I've noticed that it's very much true. I've during my life only known handful of wizards who knew really anything about dwarves. Rest of the wizard kind seems to think of them as more humanlike versions of goblins, making the two races somehow half-brothers to each other. Dwarves are also occasionally looked upon with same prejudice people give to hags - as something humanlike but distinctively less human than wizards. Stupid wizard beliefs at work again.

Goblins and dwarves respect each other, and it is true they have things in common. The two races are warrior-like in nature and both have affinity with earth. Dwarves however are much closely tuned to earth than goblins and spend most of the life mining it in search for precious metals. Most of the tunnels of Gringotts have actually been dug by dwarves, not by goblins. Also, whilst goblins delight in owning and possessing things, dwarves prefer to create things. It's considered goal of every dwarf's life to create something beautiful and everlasting, and the success of dwarf's life is measured by the things they have created, not by the things they have owned.

Dwarf kind is one of the few magical races who have society but no leaders. They face everything with face value and each dwarf chooses for themselves - there is no one dwarf that can make the decision for everyone. Though dwarves are very individual creatures, they fight as one. Whilst they do not take part in wars of humans, they will fight like no other creature if their young are endangered. Dwarf children are rare due to the race's longevity.

Dwarves can be hired to do specific tasks. They are great builders, better miners, they work well as bodyguards, and so forth and so forth. Each dwarf however has to be hired and paid separately. Because of this dwarves are very rarely hired though many agree that they are the greatest builders of the magical world - they are simply too expensive to hire.

There are rumours about that Hogwarts is the handiwork of the dwarves. Of course, wizards all deny things vehemently, and for centuries have been insistently saying that the castle was build by the four founders alone. I find that unlikely, as great wizards rarely make great handymen. And if the castle had been raised by some great long since forgotten magic, it would've fallen over long ago. Not that it truly matters at all.

Personally, I like dwarves. They look surly and annoyed when you meet them, act grumpy and irritated during official meetings, but if you manage to befriend them they are the greatest and most loyal friends you can get. They are also very intelligent and artistic people, which is a fact very few are aware of. Some of the most beautiful, though long since lost and forgotten works of art were the handwork of dwarves. The weapons and the buildings they create are also something to behold.

Of course, the fact that my own preferred weapon was created by dwarves might influence my opinion slightly.

- Clay

-

"How can you stay awake every day and night and not get tired?" Remus was asking from Tom the next evening when Clay stepped down to the bar. "The Leaky Cauldron never closes and you're the only one tending the place, and you never seem to sleep. How can you stand it?"

"It was an accident when I was younger," bartender explained with a smile. "Certain potions incident. Since then I haven't felt the need to rest at all." The man looked up to the approaching vampire "Good evening, Mr Clay. Do you want something to drink sir?"

"Good evening, Tom. I would like some pig's blood, if you would be so kind," Clay nodded as he took seat beside Remus. "And good evening to you too, Mr Lupin. Feeling better?"

"Much better, sir," the young werewolf nodded. He glanced at the vampire. "I don't mean to insult you, but your sleep-cycle is confusing. How can you sleep during the day and wake up at the evening?"

"Because I'm a vampire. And we vampires are, as clichéd as it sounds, the creatures of the night. I look at the day the same way you look at night," the vampire answered calmly. "Though I could, if I wanted to, turn my sleep cycle around and spend the nightly hours sleeping. But I won't, because then I would be forced to depend on potions to survive. There is no such thing as natural day walker among vampires and we all do burn under the sunlight."

"Ah, right," Remus nodded with slight frown. "That makes sense."

Tom returned soon with the goblet - and with a parchment envelope. "Here you go, sir. And here's a letter from the dwarf friends of mine," the bartender handed the two items to the vampire. "I can't tell for sure, but I suspect they are interested of your proposal."

"That is good news indeed, Tom, thank you very much," Clay nodded, taking the envelope and turning it around to see the seal. His eyebrows rose slightly at the coat of arms he saw in it. It was the coat of arms of the Dweorgas mine, the greatest dwarf mine there was in British soil. That, by itself wasn't so surprising since most British dwarves came from the said mine, but very few dwarves could use the coat of arms just like that.

"Proposal?" Remus asked curiously as Clay broke the seal and opened the envelope.

"There is something I want to be build and I think dwarves would be the best builders for the job," the vampire answered, pulling out the letter. It was short and to the point - the dwarf in question, Mognar, wanted to meet him to discuss his proposal. He was to send the answer immediately and the soonest possible time would be the preferred one.

"Tom would you happen to have an owl I could use?" Clay asked, placing the letter down. "And if you have parchment and ink at hand, that would be much appreciated as well."

"Of course sir, you may use my personal owl," Tom said while taking scroll of parchment and ink from underneath the counter. "Here you go, Mr Clay."

The vampire nodded and quickly wrote a quick letter. There was no need for pleasantries or politeness with dwarfs, as they preferred blunt honestly. All he needed to write was where and when - that night and in the Leaky Cauldron - and that was good enough. After he had signed the letter, Tom enclosed it in envelope and took it away to send it to the dwarf Mognar.

"Aren't dwarves really expensive to hire?" Remus asked quietly. "Even the richest of purebloods won't hire them too often because of that."

"Yes, their services are expensive," Clay agreed. "But they are expensive for a very good reason. Sure, I guess I could find some wizard construction workers or something like that, but the product of their labour wouldn't be even nearly as well made. And this is something I want to be the absolute best. I won't be cheap about it."

"What is it you want then to build?"

"A place to call home for me and those I care about," the vampire said, taking his drink to his hand. "Something to shelter us from the elements."

"Sounds nice," Remus said, though he sounded slightly unsure as he said it.

Clay hummed in answer and glanced at him. "Have you thought of my offer?" the vampire asked. The awkward look that came to the young werewolf's face told him Remus hadn't. "Maybe you should sit with me when I talk with the dwarves. That way you'll get a glimpse of what you might be getting yourself into."

"You wouldn't mind?" the young man looked surprised.

"Not at all," the vampire shook his head. "Though if you do join me, mind your manners," he seemed mildly amused. "With dwarves manners usually get in the way and can be taken as insult. Dwarves are very… outspoken creatures after all. Very intelligent and quick minded, but not too fond of pleasantries."

"You've made business with dwarves before, Mr Clay?" Tom asked as he returned from the backroom.

"One might say that," the vampire nodded his head. "It was some time ago, though. Hopefully what I learned of dealing with dwarves from then still applies today."

"It should, sir. Dwarf customs are slow to change," the barkeeper nodded.

When the dwarves showed up about hour later, Clay and Remus were sitting by one of the tables. Remus was reading the Daily Prophet of the day while Clay was going through some papers and scrolls he had fetched from his room. The three dwarves came to the bar through the fireplace, the first of them coughing and muttering something irritably in dwarvish while. The second one batted away the greenish smoke of the Floo-flames and the third one stumbled a bit.

"Who here is vampire called Clay?" the first dwarf demanded over the comfortable silence of the nightly bar. He appeared to be middle aged dwarf with admirably long black beard and armour-like coat made of black leather - dragon hide perhaps. Like all dwarves, he carried a single weapon plain in sight - throwing axe at his hip. Clay had a feeling that it wasn't the only weapon the dwarf carried though - they usually had enough weapons to arm a small troop.

"I'm Clay," the black haired vampire answered. "You must be Mognar." For a split of a moment he contemplated on if he should extend verbal invitation to sit at his table, and if asking Tom to bring the dwarves some ale would be a good way to proceed. He decided against it - mostly because the dwarves were already approaching his table with clear intentions of joining his company.

"I'm Mognar, and these are my brothers, Thorak and Dorim," the black bearded dwarf motioned at his two companions, who also had dark beards and leather armours. "What sort of job do you want to offer us, vampire? And how are you going to pay?"

Clay regarded the dwarves with a contemplative look before taking one of the parchments and handing it to Mognar. "These are the first floor blue prints of the building I want you to create," he said, taking then few another parchments. Ignoring Remus's shocked look, he handed them to the dwarves. "Here are the other floors. And this…" he took thin pile of parchments bind together with a yarn. "And this is what I want you to dig under the said building."

Mognar took the manuscript-like pile of blueprints and leafed through it. He was starting to frown, but Clay could recognise the signs of grudging respect. "Something like this can't be done just like that - especially not by three dwarves," the black bearded dwarf levelled Clay with a flat look. "In any case, this won't come cheap."

Clay nodded. "I'm aware of that. Gold isn't issue and I'm more than willing to hire as many workers as I need to. You come from Dweorgas mine, correct? I wouldn't mind hiring every dwarf of the mine - excluding the ones that cannot work of course," he crossed his fingers and examined Mognar's face with his eyes. "The budget for the construction would be as large as it needs to be as well, and I would give you free hands with it. As long as you get this build as soon as possible."

Mognar looked dumbstruck for a moment before turning suspicious. "And you have the means to pay for all this?"

"I do," the vampire assured calmly. "The goblins can vouch for it. If needed, I will get my bank statement as evidence of my ability to pay."

The three dwarves glanced at each other and then spend a moment arguing amongst themselves in dwarvish. Clay chose not to take insult in the fact that they had changed the language to dismiss him from their conversation. Dwarves were like that, and it was understandable that they wanted to discuss his offer amongst themselves. It wasn't offer they got very often, after all.

"We need to talk about this with the others of our Mine, as this is a job big enough to employ most of us," Mognar finally said in English. "What wage are you willing to pay?"

"Each worker will be paid with goblin gold, enough Galleons to fill their helmet to the brim, no more and no less," Clay said, knowing that that sort of measurement would be more acceptable than one of numbers. "And of course, each worker with get one fourth of their wage paid in advance. Rest will be paid once the job is done."

"Half," Mognar answered after he had overcome the amount Clay was willing to pay. "Half in advance."

"Two fifths, and that's all the leeway I'm willing to give," the vampire narrowed his eyes. "Though, I suppose… if you manage to finish this job within this year, I could be persuaded to double the wage." He piled the parchments and placed the pile before Mognar. "Here is all the information I have of the estate as well as the blue prints and everything else I've managed to put together so far. I have copies, so feel free to keep these."

Mognar took the parchments and swiftly the dwarves sat up. "We will continue this talk later. Will you be here in three hours?"

"I'll be here - and I'll have the statement of my Gringotts vault ready," Clay nodded and then watches as the dwarves matched away.

"That was… fast," Remus muttered when the dwarves had left by the same way they had came in. the young werewolf glanced around. The other customers of the bar, who all had been listening to the conversation closely, quickly turned their attention away. "Was it wise to have this sort of conversation out in the public?" the young man asked quietly, leaning closer to Clay so that he wouldn't be overheard. "Now everyone here knows your business."

"They know I want dwarves to build me a building, and that I'm wealthy enough to pay well. That is all," Clay said calmly. "And this is how talks with dwarves go. The first one is always held in public - it's to ensure the integrity of the dealing. The second meeting will be in private - and if it goes well, the business deal will be sealed with lot of ale."

Remus nodded with a mild frown. "Just out of curiosity… how many dwarves are there in that mine, Dwergas?"

"Dweorgas," the vampire corrected. "And I'd say around two, three hundred."

"And you're going to hire them all? And pay them all with helmet-full of gold?" the werewolf stared at him with horror. "You're going to be piss poor after this!"

"Not all of those dwarves will be willing to work. Some are too old, some are too young, and there are plenty of dwarves who simply don't want to work. I'll be lucky if I manage to hire even fifty," Clay shook his head. "And you clearly underestimate the depth of my pockets." He looked up to the bar's counter where Tom had been following the happenings with sharp eyes and sharper ears. "Tom, you do have a room suited for private meeting here, correct?"

The man nodded. "I do. I'll ready it for you if you want me to, Mr Clay," the bartender offered.

"I appreciate that, thank you," the vampire stood up and looked at Remus. "Would you like to join me for quick visit to Gringotts, Mr Lupin?" he asked, knowing that the young man was getting very curious about how wealthy he truly was. Remus hesitated but nodded. As they left the bar, the vampires and the hags in the bar began whispering amongst themselves.

Sometime later Clay and thoroughly shaken Remus returned to the Leaky Cauldron. Tom directed them immediately into the meeting room which had been apparently just cleaned up. The bartender had left some snacks to the long table of the room - jerky and such - for the upcoming meeting. There were no drinks though, as the drinking would come afterwards only if the dealing would proceed to everyone's satisfaction. After fetching copies of his plans from the upper floor, Clay sat down to wait with Remus.

"No wonder don't seem to worry about money," the werewolf murmured, glancing at the statement of Clay's Gringotts vault. "With that sort of funds…"

"Hmm…" Clay nodded. Excluding his first years in life, he had never really been poor, but his jump through the time had made him possibly the wealthiest being on the planet. "Money is the root of all evil and humans are the root of all money." He mused thoughtfully. "I wonder what that makes me."

Remus gave him a strange look but didn't answer. Instead he turned his attention away from the money issue and turned to the blue prints Clay was looking at. "What is it exactly you want the dwarves to build for you?" the young werewolf asked. "I gathered that it's something big…"

"It's a castle," the vampire answered, taking out a simple sketch and showing it to the other. "Something like this, hopefully. Of course, I intend to give the dwarves free hands with the building process, that always ends with the best outcome, so this sketch is probably all wrong," he turned the sketch around and looked at it. "But hopefully if I can manage to hire the dwarves, I'll get something like this as result."

"A vampire castle, huh?" Remus smiled a little. "I should've known." Clay just hummed thoughtfully and didn't answer. They chatted quietly while waiting, until soft knock to the door called for their attention.

The bartender peeked in. "The dwarves are here, Mr Clay," Tom explained. "Shall I show them in?"

"They're a bit early," Clay murmured but nodded. It meant that talks between Mognar and the other dwarves had gone quicker than expected. It wasn't necessarily good news, but it could be. "Show them in, Tom. Thank you."

Mognar wasn't alone. Thorak, Dorim and about half dozen other dwarves were with him. They walked in with loud steps and grumpy, yet thoughtful looks about their bearded faces. Clay made a note that Mognar hadn't brought the parchments with him. Apparently they had been left to the Dweorgas mine and to the dwarves who hadn't decided to join them in the meeting.

Without invitation, the dwarves took seat. Automatically, the table and the chairs changed to accommodate their petite size better. Clay was pleasantly surprised of the fact that Tom's meeting room seemed to be created not only for humans but other creatures. The bartender's worth rouse a little bit higher thanks to that - and his acceptance and understanding of other creatures had already landed him in Clay's good graces.

"Tell us more about this place you want us to construct," Mognar told him once they were comfortable. Since he had started the talks, he was now the spokesman for the dwarves in them. "And why in Abyss' depth do you want an underground town?"

Clay, ignoring the look Remus was giving him, crossed his hands and leaned back. "It will be a shelter for me and mine should the future weathers turn rough on us," he answered. "You know what I want and what I have to offer. Everything you need to know was in the documents I gave to you. I have confidence in the abilities of the dwarven kind, you should be capable of modifying the plans to suit you abilities the best whilst still following the outlines of my plans… So. The only question here is; will you be willing to do it?"

Mognar seemed a bit surprised and slightly pleased with his answer. Then he frowned. "Some of us are wondering if this entirely legal in wizard standards. They tend to stick their noses into things like these."

"Wizard nature and desire to always be on top of things," Clay shook his head with a frown. "Currently the Ministry holds a loose control over construction and such - barely makes a note of it. Estates after all are considered physical wealth and as such are Gringotts area of expertise. I suppose that if they knew exactly what you will be building, they might get suspicious… but that's why the castle will be build."

"It's just a sham, isn't it? The castle will be build just to cover the underground village. It's a moth-eaten vermin-ridden plot!" Mognar nodded with hint of respect in his voice. The other dwarves were nodding their approval as well while Remus looked slightly ill. "Of all rickety cave-slinking sissy plans you dainty tall folk come up with… I like this one," the black bearded dwarf pounded the table with his fist. Then he pointed a hardened finger at Clay. "About seventy of us are interested in this sham of yours. When can we start?"

Clay's features remained calm but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Whenever you'd like," he answered, knowing that they wouldn't be willing to start right away. First the celebration would ensue. Third meeting would be held to ensure that every worker would get their advance payment. And only then the construction itself would begin. He didn't mind though, not as long as he would get what he wanted.

--

Heya, updating again. Dumdidum. I have nothing to say. Except: yes, Clay is, in a way, Harry Potter. And no, there won't be slash. I did think about it but in the end I decided against it. Okay, thank you all for your wonderful comments and seeya around.


	6. V Knowledgeable Banshee

**V chapter**

**Knowledgeable banshee**

I've had few homes during my life. Dursleys's house when I was a child, I never felt at home there. Hogwarts was not truly my home, but it certainly felt like it was. The Burrow of the Weasley family was always like my second home. The moment Sirius welcomed me to Grimmauld Place, it became a home as well. Later I made a house for myself, for my wife, for the children we would create together…

Home is where the heart is. That is how the saying and many of their kind go. During my life, long after I had left the Privet Drive number Four, long after I was forced to leave Hogwarts, after the house I created for my family collapsed… I came to disagree with those words. One may be at home in many places, but home to me is a place where you can let your guards down. A place where you can relax your shoulders and wipe off the face you show to the world - where you can forget the world for a while and be yourself in the way no one truly is before other people.

Home is not where you live, but where they understand you. Another saying from another muggle author. Add "and where you can be without the fear of being stabbed in the back" to the end of it, and I'll start agreeing with it.

Humans take that for granted sometimes, I've noticed. Home to them is almost obvious thing, something that just is there. They live there, but I don't think they truly appreciate it. Not in a way a penniless, endlessly persecuted werewolf would. Not in a way a hunted vampire would. Or a banshee driven away to live away from all creatures. Or a hag hiding from the world… And if humans protect it like goblins protect theirs, they do it for the possessions in their home, not for the home itself.

Only a creature that has known the misery of being homeless can appreciate home to the extent it should be appreciated.

- Clay

-

Ever since the talks with the dwarves Remus had been rather quiet. Clay didn't need to do any guessing to know what was bothering the young man. So soon after the war someone like him doing something like building a village sized underground hideout? It was suspicious, especially for one who had taken part in the war like Remus had. No doubt the werewolf was contemplating on whether he should take the information he had to someone who would draw some conclusions - someone like Albus Dumbledore.

Clay wasn't worried, though, because so far Remus hadn't seemed to have come into any decisions. Whatever Remus thought about what he was doing, the young man didn't believe that he had malicious intents - or at least had no evidence of them right now. So instead of doing anything yet, the werewolf was listening and trying to get more information - like spy, rather. He only managed to amuse the vampire with his actions, not that Clay let him know that.

In the night following the night of the first meeting, Clay arranged the advance payments of the dwarves and sat down with Mognar to discuss the derails of the construction - like the budget. Everything required money, the materials for example. The dwarves certainly wouldn't settle for some second-rate building materials and you couldn't get good stone just out of any soil, it needed to be shipped - usually from far away. In the end Clay did what he had already planned to do. He gave the dwarves free hands and settled down to his part as the one paying the whole thing. As long as Mognar could explain what he wanted and why, Clay would make sure he had enough money to get it.

"I don't really care what the castle will look like, I have no demands about that," the vampire said to Mognar who was making notes into worn leather bound notebook. Remus was also making notes, but not as quickly as the dwarf. "I'm sure you will make it pleasant enough to look at. Of course, if the castle and the town exceed whatever expectations I have, I might pay extra." Additional motivation booster never harmed anyone.

"How about the transportation to the estate?" Mognar glanced at the map of the estate Clay had bought from the goblins. "Looks like place hard to get to."

"It is. I've had goblins arrange Portkeys for you," Clay nodded. "They should be ready tomorrow; I'll pick them up from Gringotts and bring them here so you can pick them up."

"Alright," Mognar nodded. "How about the aspect of warding? You're going to have wards at this place, right?"

"Of course. I'll hire some warders, probably freelancers, once the foundations of the castle and the wall around the state are ready, the wards will be bound to the foundations," Clay nodded. "That way even if the castle is bought down, the walls will stand. Not that I believe that the castle can be brought down at all."

Mognar, who had frowned at the notion of the castle collapsing, nodded. "Very well," he straightened his back. "I'd like to have bloke I know working with the Ward-makers, if that's possible. He's a beardless anvil-dropper but he has some interesting spells in his sleeve. Fancies himself a spell-crafter."

"That will be fine," the vampire nodded. "I trust your judgement."

"Beardless anvil-dropper?" Remus asked quietly as Mognar went back to making notes.

"Not good at mining or forging," Clay clarified. "Dwarves that aren't good at common dwarf occupations are considered less manly, thus the beardless comment," he turned to the papers before him. "Do you know where you can get the building materials, the stone?" he asked from the dwarf.

"Yeah, I have few places in mind. If I get lucky, I might even get discount from those pompous rockrunts. And the materials for the pluming I can get from Dweorgas," Mognar scratched his bearded chin while he read through the details of Clay's estate. "There's a bit of a problem with this place though. It isn't exactly fit for mining as extensive as this. It seems pretty solid, but you never really know with mountainsides like this one."

"Hmm…" the living dead frowned. "Yes, the soil might not be fitting for the sort of excavation that needs to be done. You wouldn't happen to have solution for it?"

"Well… I think if you could get your hands onto few earth-nymphs, we could get the job done easier. Two would be enough, I think," Mognar said. He glanced up to the vampire. "We have one of them at Dweorgas. Whenever we run into soft soil, the nymph can change it into solid stone. It saves us some time since we don't have to start building support beams to prevent cave-ins. Anyway, that's exactly what we need here, nymphs."

"I see," Clay leaned back with troubled frown. "It isn't easy finding earth nymphs, though. It's even more difficult trying to get them to relocate - and one should never try to relocating a nymph forcibly."

"No, one really shouldn't." Mognar frowned for a moment, running his hand over his braided beard. "I could ask around if anyone at the Mine has heard about earth-nymphs lately, but I wouldn't get my hopes up."

"I see. I'll try and see if I can find any, but I have no idea where to start, really," Clay sighed. "Are there any other problems you might wish to bring up?"

"None right now. I'm sure I can think of something once we'll see the place itself," Mognar grinned.

Clay shook his head with amusement before nodding. "I guess we shall continue this next night then."

"Lets."

Once Mognar had left, Remus looked at Clay confusedly. "Earth-nymphs? I've heard of wood-nymphs, I think they have few of those at Beauxbatons, but I've never heard of earth-nymphs. What are they like?"

"Much like wood-nymphs, except instead of dwelling in forests and trees they dwell in the earth," Clay explained. "Very few know about them because they rarely if ever come even close to earth's surface, preferring to stay underground most their lives. There are also fire-nymphs, air-nymphs and water-nymphs, but they too aren't that well known for similar reasons. There's a very good reason why nymphs are called nature spirits in some regions of the world."

The werewolf raised his eyebrows with interest in his eyes, making the vampire explain further. "Like wood-nymphs who can change the shape and structure of trees and plants, earth-nymphs can shape the ground," Clay said. "They can turn solid stone into sand and back into stone at their will. Some of the oldest and strongest ones, I hear, can even turn sand into glass. But, like nymphs usually are, they are wilful creatures. Earth-nymphs, once they have taken liking to some place, do not want to move from there."

"You know lot about magical creatures, don't you, Mr Clay?" Remus asked with slightest bit of admiration. "I always thought I knew lot, but…"

"You're still young," Clay shook his head with amusement. "You have time to learn. I've spend quite bit time among the magical races, so I've came to known them a bit better than people usually do. And of course, I've also actively studied them," he leaned back. "Maybe one day I'll write a book about what I know so other people can learn too… not in a great while, though."

Remus nodded thoughtfully. "I'd very much like to read that," the young werewolf said. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he raised his head. "Why are you building this place, sir? The underground village, the castle to hide it… why do you want them build?"

"You want to know what I'm going to hide there?" the vampire asked calmly, making the young man look away with mild embarrassment. "If I'm lucky, I will have to hide nothing there and all this preparation will be for nothing," Clay sighed as he stood up. He took his cane and clasped his fingers around the sleek black handle. "But sadly the future I predict will unlikely be favouring my wishes…" he trailed away with a frown.

"The future you predict?" Remus curiously asked as he stood up, taking his notes with him.

"Yes," Clay shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. Are you hungry, Mr Lupin? I think I could use something to drink."

If Remus was disappointed because of the change of subject, he didn't show it. As they returned to the main area of the bar, neither of them failed to notice how interested the other customers were of them. Though the hags tried to not look like it and the vampires were apparently paying no attention to them, they had turned they eyes away too slowly to not be noticed.

"Your dealings with the dwarves are making people curious, sir," Remus mused quietly as they sat down.

"I suppose so," Clay agreed. "It takes no genius to put things together and realise that something special is going on here. Right now it doesn't matter, though," he looked towards the counter where the bartender was standing. "Tom, some sustenance if you would be so kind. For the lad as well."

"Right away, Mr Clay," the innkeeper nodded.

Turning his eyes to Remus, who despite not arguing against it didn't seem all that happy about being treated - again. The vampire raised his eyebrows at the mildly sullen look on the young man's face. "Well then, have you thought about my proposal?"

"About becoming your assistant, sir?" Remus asked and hesitated. "I guess it would be interesting source of income," he then said rather neutrally.

Clay seemed amused. "That's one way of putting it," he nodded. "Right now I think your duties would mostly consist of taking notes and maybe eventually working as informant between me and the workers, once they get to work that is. Keeping me informed of the things they are doing and so forth."

"That doesn't seem too complicated," Remus admitted. "Can I think about it a little longer?"

"Of course, there is no rush," Clay nodded. He looked up as Tom returned with the food and his usual goblet of blood. "Thank you very much, Tom," the vampire said as the bartender handed the goblet to him.

Remus nodded to the innkeeper as well before turning to his late - or very early - dinner. "Strange how easily I got used to this," the werewolf murmured while he grasped the eating utensils. "Being awake during the night and sleeping during the day. I even eat during the night now and it seems natural."

Clay gave him a thoughtful look over the brim of his goblet. Then the vampire turned his dark green eyes away. "I suspect it might be natural, in a certain way. Werewolves are nocturnal creatures, after all." Remus shivered slightly at the words, but Clay said nothing to it. Remus wasn't a werewolf because he wanted to be one, it was given that the aspects of his existence displeased - and slightly frightened - him.

It made the vampire wonder when the next full moon was - and what the young man was planning to do when the time would come. The Wolfsbane hadn't been invented yet, so Remus had nothing to help him with the transformation. Frowning, the vampire thought back to the Wolfsbane. It wouldn't be invented in another five, six years - and that was too long to wait.

Taking a sip of his blood, Clay wondered where he could urge the potion's creator to invent the potion a little bit earlier.

-

The next night, Clay, Remus, Mognar and handful of other dwarves took Portkeys to the location where Clay's castle would one day stand. It was a small valley in middle of a mountain side. The valley was mostly covered in late summer flowers and hay, though there were some random patches of trees and bushes near the edges. There was also a decently sized pond in the valley with river leading into it and then away from it, keeping the water fresh.

"Like I thought. Not good at all," Mognar murmured after the dwarves had spent some moments inspecting the valley. They were stomping the field and some were on their knees with their large ears pressed against the ground. "The earth's too soft here, entirely too soft. You could build a castle here, but not a mine, and definitely not something like what you want us to build."

"No other way to proceed than to get the nymphs, huh?" Clay frowned while he looked over the dark valley, wondering what it looked like during the day. It wasn't a bad looking place at all. "I suspect you didn't find anyone who had heard about nymphs, hm?" Mognar's negative answer made the vampire's frown darken. "I guess I need to start moving a bit quicker then," Clay muttered more to himself than to the others. The he glanced at the dwarf. "I suppose you can't start building even foundations for the castle yet, can you?"

"No, I wouldn't dare to start digging around here before we got the nymphs," Mognar frowned and kicked the earth. "If we make the castle's foundations to this soil and then have the nymphs harden it later, we would need to redo everything. It's best to start working on both simultaneously."

"Right…" the vampire muttered. "What can you start working on?"

"The wall around the grounds, that's about it," the dwarf answered. "Few of us are already working on the pluming, though. Making the pipes and such."

Clay nodded. "Start working on the wall. I'll deal with the nymph issue," he said, and then watched his Mognar walked away to pass his orders to the other dwarves. Then he turned to look at Remus who was staring up to the night sky. Glancing up, the vampire saw what he was looking at. The moon loomed there surrounded by wisps of clouds. It was almost full. Clay frowned, turning his attention back to the young man. "Come along, Mr Lupin. It's best that we head back to Leaky Cauldron - we're no use here."

"You know, Mr Clay, it's strange," Remus spoke more to himself than to Clay. "You knew what I was from the beginning and… you act like it's the most natural thing in the world. Tom too…"

"Because to people like me and Tom, it's natural," Clay said simply. When the young man gave him incredulous look he shook his head. "I didn't say it was a good thing. This world would probably be better off without the curse of lycanthropy. But it's there and all we can do is deal with it. It's not like you're the only werewolf in the world and you most certainly are not the only one I've met. And Tom, like me, has seen enough to accept things as they are." The vampire held out his hand, the Portkey nestled on his palm. "Shall we go back?"

Once they were back at the bar, Clay exchanged few words with Tom about the young man. "I need to head out, and I'll probably be out all night. Look after the boy while I'm gone, would you Tom? Give him something to cheer him up. The full moon will be at the end of the week, and he's getting depressed about it," the vampire said to the bartender. "I should be back before dawn."

"What about when the full moon comes, Mr Clay?" Tom asked with a slight frown. "Does the lad have a place where he can transform safely?"

"I suspect he does, but I'll talk about it with him later. If he doesn't have a place like that, then I'll find one," Clay promised. "Now I must be off if I want my business taken care of before the dawn."

Some time later the light of the nearly full moon found him standing on a rocky shore where the harsh winds threw the ocean waves against the sharp rocks with vengeance. Glancing over the dark rocs, Clay turned his attention towards the island's centre, where the ground rose to a hill. There was a roughly build stone cottage there with vegetable fields at each side. Even from afar Clay could see that the vegetables didn't fair well in such a windy island.

Grasping a stronger hold of the handle of the cane, the vampire began making his way towards the cottage. As he came closer, he could see the light shining behind the small windows. It was no surprise, though. Clay knew that the people living on the small windy island scarcely slept at all.

Walking pass the withering vegetable fields, he came to the front of the crude cottage. After moment of hesitation he steeled himself and reached to knock the door. Then he waited, his grip tightening on the handle of the cane. There was a moment of stillness with the howling of the wind being the only sound, before the door creaked open. A woman with long black hair and airy black dress looked out. Her face was pale and thin and her eyes were glowing with sorrow Clay didn't even want to understand.

"I am known as Clay," the vampire spoke softly, meeting her eyes steadily. "May I talk with the Peaceful One?" he asked, thinking that it was best to keep things simple.

The woman seemed to measure him, before turning away and closing the door without a word. Sighing softly, Clay bowed his head and waited. If the banshee had wanted him to leave, she would've said so. So he waited. After a moment the door was opened and the long haired woman let him in.

The cottage was… not all that cosy on the inside. It was almost empty of any furniture with a draft Clay could easily feel. There were candles to give light but the fireplace, though it looked like it worked, wasn't in use. As the thin woman led Clay through the cold house, the vampire saw at least dozen different banshees. Group of them were mournfully humming in the room that looked like a lounge area while another group were doing something at the cottage's kitchen. Soon after Clay was led upstairs and to a large empty room decorated by bundles of drying herbs hanging from the ceiling. There, at the window, stood woman with white hair that reached the floor.

As the younger banshee left, the white haired woman turned around. Like the other women of the house, she too was very thin and dressed into airy black dress. Though her hair was completely white, she was by no means old looking, in fact she looked a little younger than the other banshees.

"Vampire," the woman spoke with musical voice that had airy quality in it. "Why do you disturb our peace?"

Clay's fingers ached as he forced them to relax their hold on the cane. "I mean no harm though I suspect you already know that," the vampire said as calmly as he could. "I am looking for something and I believe you know where I might find it."

The white haired banshee blinked slowly before nodding her head. "What is it that you look?"

"Earth-nymphs," the vampire answered simply.

"And you think I know where to find such creatures?" the woman tilted her head to the side, looking slightly puzzled. "Why?"

"Because you are the Peaceful One," Clay answered. "Of all _dark_ creatures that wander this earth, you have the closest connection with magic. If someone can find well hidden creatures such as earth-nymphs, it's you."

The woman seemed slightly surprised. "You know of my connection with Lady Magic? No… I suspect you know much about banshees in general… much about magical creatures in general. You are not a normal vampire, are you?" she walked to him, the steps of her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. "You know things no one should. Things even I do not know."

Clay closed his eyes as the banshee reached her thin, pale hands to his face. Her touch was cold, sending shivers through his back, but he didn't move. "Why are you here?" the woman asked, and he could easily tell she didn't mean the island or the cottage.

"To make a better future for our kind," the vampire answered quietly keeping his eyes closed as she stroked her cold fingertips over his skin.

"Your concept of _your kind_ is wide. Very wide. Are you trying to save every magical creature from whatever future you perceive?" When he didn't answer, she answered herself. "I think you are. I like you, vampire who has no right being here." She gave a sad laugh. "I'll tell you where you can find your earth-nymphs."

As Clay slowly opened his eyes, he found that the white haired Peaceful One was smiling up to him. "And one day," she murmured with a faraway look in her sorrowful eyes. "You will give a home to my daughters."

--

Gawd I feel horrible. And lookie, more creatures to this fic. Damn I wish I could get my inspiration with this going again. I really liked writing this thing... gah, maybe once I've actually managed to get some sleep.... Still five more chapters to upload before I run out of them. Thank you all for your wonderful comments again and see you again in few days, I hope. -_- I need some sleep...


	7. VI Trapped Nymphs

**VI chapter**

**Trapped nymphs**

Moon has a strange effect on Earth and things that live on it. Oceans follow it and wolves howl at it. Some believe that full moon has effect on human and animal behaviour - that's where the terms lunacy and lunatic come from. They also say that full moon effects fertility and birthing. And that's just the so called muggle aspect of our world.

Herbologists, astrologists, magical scientists, caretakers of magical creatures, defence masters and potions makers believe that the light of the full moon is magical. Some magical herbs and plants are at their most potent during full moon - few only bloom at the night of full moon. Also certain potions must be made under full moon to reach their full effectiveness. Of course, all sorts of magical creatures are also effected by full moon. Unicorns are often seen around full moon, veelas turn highly emotional, banshees spend entire night singing, vampires are more likely to fall to bloodlust… they even say that dragons are effected by the moon. And of course… there are the werewolves.

Full moon forces a werewolf undergo a transformation into the raging beasts of legends and horror tales. No one cannot deny the direct link between lycanthropy and full moon since for centuries it has been proved over and over again. Still, I wonder exactly why and how does it happen. Does the moon's light somehow unlock the otherwise dormant curse, is it all a unlucky coincidence… or was the lycanthropy designed like that? Why even the werewolves that hide away from the moon change form? They can lock themselves underground with tons of stone and soil between them and the moon, and they still transform. If the moon wouldn't be there, if it was to vanish… would werewolves still change once a month?

Strangely enough, no one has the answers to these questions. Either no one hasn't studied the effect closely enough, or it just cannot be explained. Strange, though. Even after the invention of the Wolfsbane potion, these fact didn't came to know. Wolfsbane is a very complicated potion and it alters the werewolves transformation radically… yet it brought no new information about the subject of Lycanthropy. I don't even know if the Wolfsbane affects the drinker's curse or their ability absorb the energy in the light of the full moon.

All I really know that the potion saves the drinker from the dementia that makes werewolves the monsters they are. And that instead of turning into the full fletched monster werewolves are, the drinker turns into wolf. The dementia part, I think, is more important than the mellower transformation. Sure, it's perhaps easier for people to think that instead of turning into monsters, they turn into just normal wolves and therefore are safer. I'm not sure why they think wolves are less dangerous than werewolves, though. Both are very efficient predators and if the dementia would stay, the wolf would be just as dangerous as the werewolf.

- Clay

-

The Peaceful One gave Clay a location where he could find three trapped nymphs. It was an island in middle of a lake, where once a house had stood. The Peaceful One told that some time ago a wizard had lived here. He had accidentally found the young nymphs while travelling and thought that they were abandoned children. Then he had taken them, more or less forcibly, to the island, trapping them there. Because there was water around the island, the nymphs couldn't leave the place without help - they were too young to burrow deep enough to the earth to go under the lake.

"I think these three children would appreciate if you would take them away from there," the white haired banshee had smiled sadly. "They have been trapped there since the wizard died - and since they had gotten used to the wizard's presence, I do not think they would mind helping you with your scheme."

Clay Apparated to the shore of the lake, from where he could see the island in middle of it. It wasn't very large island, with overgrown young forest taking most of space. Definitely not a suitable place for earth-nymphs - they weren't wood-nymphs after all. Though it might be that the presence of the nymphs was what had made the forest overgrow as earth-nymphs gave the soil minerals and such every time they dug through it.

The vampire Apparated to the shore of the island. It was silent in the night without even birds making a sound. With a thoughtful hum, the man begun making his way through the forest, not sure how to go about his search of the nymphs. He had seen and interacted with such creatures before, but nymphs were all rather unique. Some of them were calm and peaceful and some violent and hateful. And usually all of them were pretty shy excluding the ones who had spend enough time around other creatures to get adjusted to them. Because they usually co-existed with forest-full of animals, wood-nymphs were usually bolder than their less interactive cousins.

Clay was about to begin searching for the nymphs, when he heard the ground rumbling near by. Stopping his steps he listened. The soft rumbling was coming closer. The nymphs had probably sensed his steps. Experimentally, he used his cane to tap the ground sharply twice, certain that the nymphs could sense it. The rumbling was joined with another coming from different direction. Stifling his anticipation, Clay waited for the nymphs' reactions.

Soon the sound stopped, after coming close enough to enter his field of vision. Near Clay, the earth begun to swell and shudder, and soon a head popped out of the ground. It was a human face, except for the fact that the skin was dark brown and there were pieces of stones attached to the skin here and there - also, where human would've had hair, this creature had spikes of black stone.

"Hello there," Clay greeted the creature. The nymph seemed to be still rather young, in their preteens. He couldn't tell the nymphs gender, but the colouring pointed towards male gender. Female earth-nymphs were lighter shaded and they usually had 'hair' of gems and jewels.

The nymph blinked their large gem-like eyes before raising a clawed like hand that had stone like skin. With the hand, the nymph begun to pull themselves up from the ground. The nymph was, like Clay had thought, a male. And while it was trying to clumsily get up, another nymph raised their head from the ground. This one had 'hair' of red gemstones and much paler skin than the male nymph. The two of them were about the same age.

Clay kneeled to the ground to look at the two of them more closely. They didn't look too well. Though the girl nymph had a lustrous sheen in her jewel hair, she was thin and bony, and so was the boy. They didn't get enough nutrients in the island, not even nearly enough. Both of them had over grown claws too, sign that they didn't use them enough. As Clay wondered just how long could a nymph live in such a small island, the third nymph joined them.

It was clear why this nymph had came last. He was the smallest and youngest of the three of them, not even a teen yet. This nymph had a hair of shapeless lumps of orange and yellow stones that had stripes in them. He wasn't as thin as the elder ones, but it was explained by the way the elder nymphs quickly moved between Clay and the youngest nymph. They were taking care of him, giving the youngest one more minerals than they themselves ate.

"No need to be afraid, I'm not going to harm you," Clay murmured, though he wasn't sure if the nymphs understood him. Of all nymphs, only wood ones could talk - though they rarely did, preferring to sing instead. The others rarely even understood human languages. "It's alright, I'm not going to harm the little one either. You've been taking care of him, haven't you? Like big sister and brother…"

The nymphs looked at him warily, but seemed to relax a little at his words. Maybe they _could_ understand him. The Peaceful One had said that they had lived with the wizard for a while - maybe it had been long enough for the wizard to teach them how to understand English. "I was told that you're trapped here by a woman who cares lot about creatures like you," Clay continued to speak, as it seemed that it calmed the little ones down. "The lake keeps you here, because of the water you can't leave… and by the looks of it, you're running out of things to eat."

He hummed thoughtfully, making the female nymph's eyes widen slightly. As the girl moved closer, still shoulder-deep in ground he continued humming as it seemed to fascinate her. It was fight against his survival instincts to keep still as the girl reached her clawed hand towards his throat, but he didn't move. Not even when she cut him a little while examining his skin.

"I could take you away from here. Into a place where you would have plenty of things to eat. Soft ground and hard stone…" Clay hummed, keeping the grimace away from his face as the girl examined the trail of blood now running down his neck. As she pulled her hand away, her claws were stained in his blood. The vampire swallowed and raised his hand to examine the damage. Luckily it wasn't deep cut and it was already healing.

"There wouldn't be anything forcing you to stay there," he continued speaking as the girl was trying to wipe the blood away from her claws. "All the space you need and all the minerals you want. Mountains too. I wonder if you've ever seen mountains. I hear that earth-nymphs like you are quite fond of them…"

The girl and the elder boy exchanged thoughtful looks while the younger boy hid behind the elder one. The ground rippled between them, and Clay could feel that they were communicating somehow, but he had no way of knowing what they were saying. After a moment of silence, the girl nymph turned to him and reached up her hands - as if asking him to pick her up.

After hesitating a moment, Clay wrapped his arms around her and pulled her out of the ground. She was, as all nymphs were, completely naked, though there were clusters of precious stones covering her skin here and there. As she warped her arms around the vampire's neck, Clay wondered how old they had been when the wizard had died. Like child, she wanted to be picked up.

Setting the girl down to the ground instead of picking her up to his arms completely, Clay brushed his hand over her gemstone hair before turning to the other nymphs. They had moved closer, and the elder boy was holding his dark shaded arms up as well. Clay pulled him up from the ground as well, before doing the same to the littlest one.

"I guess you're coming with me then," Clay murmured. "Alright then. Hold onto me, and I'll take you to your new home, if you deem it good enough." The girl grabbed hold of his arm while the boys did the same to his other arm. Apparently they had Apparated with the wizard before the man had died, whoever he had been. With a satisfied nod, Clay concentrated and Disapparated from the island and into the valley where his castle would be build.

After ensuring the nymphs that that the dwarves were alright and weren't going to harm them, Clay and Mognar sat down for a talk. "They are bit younger than I hoped," the black bearded dwarf murmured, looking at the nymphs who were trying to hide behind Clay. "They probably don't even know how to harden earth yet, I imagine it's a difficult trick even for a nymph. But… I think we can work with this. I could get the nymph from the Dweorgas mine to come here for a while, she could teach them. Not just about the magic nymphs can use but about working with us and all."

"I think that would be wonderful," Clay nodded, glancing at the nymphs over his shoulder. The youngest one had buried his face to the vampire's back while the elder boy was suspiciously staring at Mognar over Clay's shoulder. The girl was leaning onto vampire's other shoulder while rubbing the younger boy's back, trying to calm the boy down. "They took shine to me very quickly," the vampire mused with slight awe.

"Nymphs are like that. When they find a person they like, they latch on," Mognar chuckled with surprising softness. "The nymph of our mine is like that, has been hanging around old Hargal for decades now. I'll give them a holler, they should come here no time. Hargal is too old to work, all he cares about these days is the nymph and I think the nymph would like to see her kind."

The nymph Peri along with her caretaker Hargal came to the building site some time later. Hargal was elderly dwarf with messy greying beard and worn leather coat. Peri, on other hand, was still seemingly young, though you never knew with nymphs. She had hair of lustrous green stones and unlike the young nymphs, she was clothed, if you could call the formations of precious stones covering her form clothing. While the young nymphs looked the approaching elder nymph with wonder, she seemed delighted at the sight of them. Soon after, the ground began to ripple excitedly as the nymphs begun talking.

"I'll leave this to your hands," Clay said to the dwarves once the young nymphs had released him. He stood up from the ground and brushed the blades of grass off his coat. "I trust you to take care of the little ones."

Old Hargal chuckled. "We will, we will. Peri will cover our hinds in rock slide if we wont."

-

Hargal and Peri got the young nymphs settled down to Clay's estate very quickly. The young nymphs, according to Hargal, followed Peri like puppy dogs. Peri also was enjoying herself while teaching the younger nymphs. The elder nymph apparently managed to convey what Clay and the dwarves wanted of the younger nymphs, and surprisingly enough the young nymphs seemed excited about the prospect of helping people dig. The elder nymph boy was quickly learning how to harden soil into solid rock while the girl was good at turning solid rock into soil again.

Clay was glad that the nymphs were learning quickly and that the dwarves could soon begun the construction. But the fact that the nymphs took liking to his estate and were apparently happy there delighted him more than the upcoming construction. It made him content to see magical creatures happy and since he had had a direct hand in making the young nymphs content, he was especially pleased at the results.

At the end of that week was the full moon. Remus assured Clay and Tom that he indeed did have a place where he could transform and that it was all taken care off. Apparently in some unplottable forest there was an abandoned house where Remus usually transformed. "It's far away from any towns or villages and the house is well build, can even stand a werewolf," Remus assured them with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

When he left to Disapparate that evening, he probably didn't expect to be followed. Tracking the Apparition trail wasn't easy task even for Clay, but he had more than enough experience at it to do it within minutes. Then he Disapparated after the young werewolf. He found himself before a small stone house that stood within a dark, old forest. Looking up Clay saw that the branches of the old, huge trees blocked out the sky almost entirely. Because of that, there was no foliage whatsoever in the forest. It reminded him strongly of the Dark Forest of Hogwarts.

Without wasting time, the vampire changed form. Soon after a black cat approached the house carefully before jumping up to the window sill to peak inside. The house was empty from the inside without any furniture. It was easy to tell that it was indeed the place where Remus transformed. The walls and the floor were covered in scratches and claw marks.

As the dark eyed cat watched, the young werewolf undressed his clothing in the middle of what probably was living room. After stripping completely, Remus hid his robes and shoes underneath a loose floorboard before sitting down to the floor to wait. For a moment the cat mused to himself I every werewolf did what Remus had done, if they all undressed to save their clothing from the damage. Then he was distracted by the old scars in the young werewolf's back. The way they ran over the young man's skin suggested that they were all self inflicted - Remus had clawed himself in his werewolf form.

Settling down on the window sill, the cat laid his ears back. Now and then glancing up to the sky, even though the tree branches prevented him from seeing the moon, he waited with the young werewolf. It was easy to tell when the full moon begun rising - the shivers that started running through Remus's form were a clear sign.

Soon the werewolf's shoulders begun shaking and hair begun sprouting out of his skin. Through the window, the cat could hear snarling and snapping noises as the young man's bones begun changing and lengthening inside him. Growl of pain escaped from the man as his face lengthened, his hands and feet turned into paws and long wolf's tail grew out. Then, once the painful transformation was complete, the werewolf howled.

The black cat watched in silence as the werewolf begun pacing inside the house in all fours. It was growling and snarling quietly, trying to find a way out of the room. Apparently Remus had done good job locking himself in, since the wolf didn't find away. In anger, the monster unleashed his fury at the walls, clawing them ferociously. Soon after it noticed the window, and tried to break it. There was probably an unbreakable charm in the window, since it couldn't even make the glass shake.

Then the wolf noticed the cat. Concentrating onto the feline, it calmed down a little, trying to sniff the cat's scent through the window. The cat watched this calmly, not moving from the window sill. When the werewolf's nuzzle came in contact with the glass, the cat reached his neck towards the window, curious if the scent actually made through the charm. It didn't. Soon after the werewolf lost his interest in the cat, and continued pacing.

Clay remained there the entire night, watching over the caged werewolf. When Remus begun claw himself in lack of things to maul, the cat squeezed his eyes shut. He made a mental vow to find the wizard who would create the Wolfsbane and see if he could speed up the process a bit. He wouldn't be able to stand this much longer, werewolves going through these painful transformations when the way to ease the process was so close by.

--

Earth nymphs are, sadly enough, my own addition to the Harry Potter verse. But I figured that what the heck, there are already wood nymphs, so why not? And for the person asking about the time travelling bit, yes, Clay did travel back in time. But before that, he more or less robbed Gringotts and took the money with him back in time. It was said in the first chapter I think.


	8. VII Restricted potions maker

**VII chapter**

**Restricted potions maker**

In the Wizarding world, freedom of speech is fickle thing. Wizards - most often muggleborn ones - can be fined and even trialled for speaking their minds, especially if they happen to compare muggle world to Wizarding world and making muggle world seem in any way better in the process. There's actual name for this so called crime, it's called "debase of magical culture". Also, a pureblood wizard can at any time challenge someone to duel "to defend their honour" for any little thing, while muggleborn can never do such thing, no matter what people say to them.

There isn't really such thing as freedom of the press in the magical culture. Especially if you make example of the Daily Prophet, the Wizarding newspaper that stands in monopoly in Britain, as it has for as long as wizards have had press. The entire paper is controlled strictly by the Ministry. I wonder if it even has an editor, or if it's completely controlled by a politician. In any case, whoever controls it doesn't seem to care how their reporters get their stories - or if they're even true - as long as they support Ministry's current opinions and propaganda.

The other papers are controlled as well, though to lesser degree. Articles of certain things cannot be published, certain words and terms cannot be used… for a while the Quibbler seemed to escape this censorship but only because that particular paper isn't exactly reliable source of information. But eventually even that paper falls under control of someone who shouldn't have any business trying to control it.

One of the reasons why the Ministry of Magic has fallen to its current state of corruption and distortion is because no one questions it. They control the opinions of their public through the paper. And if the public begins to question things nonetheless, who will hear them? Rare are the ones who would listen and I doubt they can do anything about it even when they do. And they can't exactly go to anyone about it either.

It disgusts me to watch this. The Ministry wallows in its own power and dishonesty, doing what they do best and forgetting the things they _should_ be doing. Money exchange hands in secret and incompetent people seek their way in political positions when they have no right being there. As this continue, the Ministry falls deeper into pit of ineptness until eventually it's not about not doing what they should, but just not having the aptitude to do it.

Department of Magical Law Enforcement is concentrating on keeping up the image of the Ministry. Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes concentrates onto keeping the Secrecy Clause, not trying to prevent disasters caused by magic. Department of International Magical Cooperation seems to be more interested to keep magical Britain's appearances than devoting any time to improve the relationships between magical governments. Department of Magical Transportation seems to be keeping track of people while giving them the means of transportation. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures… well, the more busy offices of this department are the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, and the Registry and Capture units for creatures such as myself. And the list goes on. I doubt even Department of Mystery does what it is supposed to, but what that is exactly… is a mystery to me.

All this because no one really questions them or their ethics, their methods and their results. Because they rule what people ask and what questions are never really heard. No body of power, no governing unit should be like this. They should _fear_ the public's opinion. They should be fighting tooth and nail to keep the public opinion positive with their results - and the public should have the right to question everything. People should have freedom of speech.

But if people ask - and most often than not it is the muggleborns that ask - they are punished for it. In worst cases they are harassed to the point that they leave Wizarding world entirely. But then again, that's nothing new. Almost all muggleborns that enter Wizarding world at age of eleven leave it before they even turn twenty. And the ones that remain usually do so because they managed to marry into pureblood or halfbloods families.

The few that remain are usually oppressed by the opinions of others until they finally give up and forget their own beliefs. And nothing is more loathsome than a muggleborn agreeing with pureblood propaganda - because that's what the Ministry is. Group of purebloods - and their supporters - enforcing their prejudiced opinions and making sure no new thoughts find their way into their society.

- Clay

-

Clay looked over Remus as the werewolf silently sipped his broth. The full moon was over, but not without leaving it's signature behind. Clay had patched the young man's self-inflicted wounds - bandaging them mostly because healing ointments and potions wouldn't work on wounds caused by a werewolf - but Remus wasn't yet completely recovered. He would now and then tremble a little bit as if he was cold, but despite that he was sweating slightly. And the broth he kept drinking was a clear sign of his inability stomach anything solid yet.

"Its days like these when I would much rather be a vampire than a werewolf," the young man murmured with a weak grin, trying to warm his hands on the cup. "Seems like your kind has it easier than mine, Mr Clay."

"Well, I don't know," the vampire mused. "It depends on a vampire really…"

"You don't turn into full fledged monster once in every month," Remus argued. "You don't have to go through this. Aren't vampires immortal too? Ignoring the blood-bit and incapability to stand sunlight, I think it's not a bad deal, vampirism."

"Vampires aren't immortal, Mr Lupin. It's true that we age slower than humans, but we age and eventually we die." Clay shook his head. "As for turning into monsters, well… there are of course those of us who are more vulnerable to bloodlust than others. Even you wouldn't be jealous of them."

"Bloodlust?" the werewolf asked quietly, now frowning slightly.

"Bloodlust is a state where vampire loses their common sense and become a true monster. Except unlike you in your transformed form, vampire with bloodlust is still somewhat aware of their actions… but unable to stop them. It's the moment when we living dead begin to resemble our undead cousins," the vampire looked down to the goblet he was holding. "I've only fallen to it once, some time after I received my first blood, but there are those vampires who fall to it weekly…"

Remus looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again. "What makes you different from those vampires? Why don't you fall to this bloodlust thing?"

Clay raised his goblet. "Because of this. What I drink for my sustenance is solely animal blood. Excluding my first blood, animal blood is the only kind I have ever consumed. Human blood has a taste and quality no other blood has," he lowered the goblet and stared down to the blood remaining in the bottom. "After a vampire drinks the blood of a human, even if just once, they begin to hunger for more - need for more even. The more they drink the more they need, until animal blood simply isn't enough for them. And when vampires like these get hungry, really truly hungry… the bloodlust strikes them."

"What's it like? The bloodlust?" Remus asked quietly. "You said that vampire with it is still aware of their actions, so… you can remember it, right?"

"Oh, I can. And I'll never forget it," Clay frowned. "It was as if there was blood over my eyes, making everything red. I was _so_ hungry, hungry like I've never been before… It was all I could think of, the consuming need to feed, nothing else existed for me. If there had been a human near by, I would have attacked them without a second thought. I tried to concentrate onto something else, but it felt like I was trapped inside the need, trapped inside my own starved madness… It seemed to last forever, but later I found out that it only lasted for few minutes."

Clay shook his head and sipped the blood remaining in the goblet. "Every vampire that is made experiences bloodlust after they've received their first blood, like I did. It's our first experience as vampires. It's there when we decide the path we take… some go mad at that point." When the werewolf gave him confused look, he explained. "First blood is what we call the blood that turns a human into one like me. Vampire's blood. After a human drinks it, they go through transformation… and moment of bloodlust."

"So it's rather like werewolf transformation, except it is permanent," the young man murmured, before realising something. "You went through that, sir? Does it mean you weren't born a vampire?" Remus seemed surprised.

"Oh no, I was a wizard before. Then I was turned into this," Clay licked one of his fangs thoughtfully. When the werewolf seemed to hesitate as if wanting to ask something but not knowing if he dared to, Clay shook his head. "It was my choice. I became a vampire willingly."

"Why?" the werewolf immediately asked. "Because of the longevity?"

"No. Because of physical strength and enhanced healing," Clay shook his head. "Those two qualities were something I needed at that time. The longevity isn't as much of a blessing as people seem to think. Not when it turns something as common as sunlight mortally dangerous to you."

"There are potions to help vampires with that, aren't there?"

"There are, but they… aren't exactly pleasant to consume," the vampire grimaced. "Vampire's ingestion system is made for blood and blood alone. Stomaching potions isn't something we can easily do. And when a creature that usually has no need to defecate gets diarrhea…"

Remus nearly choked on his broth when Clay said that.

-

People occasionally moaned about how small the British magical community was. Clay found this both misleading and prejudiced. The magical community wasn't small. Its unofficial core was small, yes, as there weren't all that many pureblood families left. But the magical world itself had many families. Sadly most of them were half-blood families that didn't like to draw too much attention to themselves in the world where their kind was considered lower class - not as low as muggleborn families, but those were even rarer than pureblood ones.

One of these half-blooded families was the Belby family. The first Belby to enter the magical society had been a muggle born boy who had married halfblooded girl after Hogwarts. They had had two children, boy and girl. The girl had died young while the boy had grown up and eventually married a muggleborn. They had had two children, two boys. One of those boys, now a man, was the inventor of the Wolfsbane. Damocles Belby, elder brother of Spathi Belby.

This all was public information if you knew where to look. There was a book called Magical Matrimony. Officially it was an account of all the marriages of the Wizarding world, who had married who, when and how and if they had any children. It was dressed like very badly written attempt of romance novel, and within the innocent circles some even considered it bit of a privilege to have their marriages recorded in the book. But in that unofficial reality no one spoke of, it was a bloodline document. From it one could find the blood heritance of all the British Wizarding families within the last two centuries - and the book was revised and republished every year to keep up with the recent marriages and births. The book and few of its kind existed so that purebloods could keep track of muggle blood in their society.

Ignoring the fact that he loathed the book and its existence, Clay had found that when one was looking for people, the book could offer some leads. From it he actually found the location of Damocles Belby - mostly because the book said that when Spathi Belby married Cordelia Austin, Damocles didn't go to the wedding, instead opting to stay at his home in Worcestershire.

Clay found it slightly ominous that man named Damocles had a brother whose name translated into sword. He could remember from the future that the Belby brothers had had some sort of falling out, or so Marcus Belby, Spathi's son who was about three now, had said to Slughorn. Perhaps the falling out had already happened. It didn't really matter to Clay though.

In wizard pub in Worcester - pub he knew about thanks to Tom - Clay found a little more about Damocles Belby. According to barkeeper, Mr Belby was a bachelor who came by ever Saturday, drank half a bottle of nettle wine and usually talked about the Potions Monthly magazine. With few questions Clay probably could have found out where Damocles Belby lived, but knowing that the man visited the bar was enough. It would be easier to approach the man over a drink the upcoming Saturday.

-

While waiting for the next weekend, Clay spend some time watching over the construction if his castle. With the young nymphs more or less playing around the area and turning everything into stone at Peri's command, the construction was finally under way and the foundations were being made.

"Hargal gave the little ones names," Mognar said while taking Clay and Remus around the construction area and showing what they were working on. Near by the young nymphs could be seen examining some nook in the ground while Peri was pointing at something, apparently explaining it. Mognar snorted. "Calls the littlest one Tiger after the stones in his hair, Tiger's eye. The girl he calls Ruby and the elder boy Shale for the same reason."

"I guess Peri comes from Peridot then?" Clay mused, looking at the nymph woman and her hair of green stones.

Mognar seemed surprised before laughing. "I guess so. I'm surprised that you know rocks, though. Tall folk who have any interest on what they stand on are rare," the dwarf snorted before folding his hands. "They're not bad names," he then mused, glancing at Clay. He seemed to be expecting the vampire to answer.

After a moment of silence, the vampire sighed. "What?" he asked.

"Well, they are your nymphs," Mognar shrugged. "Stands to reason that you'd get a say in their names."

The vampire frowned. "I wouldn't call them that… I just relocated them here in hopes that they might help us with the construction - or at least be better off than they were in their previous location. I never saw them as mine in any way…" he shook his head and gave it some thought. "Shale, Ruby and Tiger, hm? No, they aren't bad names at all. If they like the names, then sure. It's fine by me."

Mognar nodded with thoughtful frown while Remus hurried to catch up with them. "Where did you find them anyway?" the werewolf asked. "The nymphs? I thought they're hard to find, but you found three of them in one go!"

Clay shrugged. "I know someone who… knows things. She told me where to find them," he said while tapping the handle of his cane thoughtfully with his forefinger. "They were entrapped in an island in the middle of a lake. Nymphs as young as those three can't dig all that deep underground, so they couldn't leave the island."

"They do seem a bit thin," the black bearded dwarf frowned. "I guess they were running out of things to eat… well. Better for them to be here than there I guess," he turned to look ahead again. He motioned forward. "That's where the castle's entrance to the underground town will be," he said, motioning at a pit where three dwarves were measuring something. "That's where we will start digging the maze."

"Maze?" Remus asked with surprise.

"Yes," Clay nodded with slight smugness. "It wouldn't be proper hidden shelter without some protections, now would it? The labyrinth will be the first of the many ways the town will be protected from intruders."

Mognar nodded. "The outlay of the maze has been designed by one of our best designers. It will be nice and complicated. And once we will start laying it the traps, it will be nice and deadly too. And after that we'll add some spells and it will be impossible pass through the maze alive." He looked up to the black haired vampire. "Have you thought of a name for this place anyway?"

The vampire looked around himself, stopping for a moment. In his mind he build the castle around them,

Imagining the entrance hall and the stairs leading up to the east and west wings. Between the stairs would stand large pairs of doors that would open to the ball-room. On other side of the west staircase there would be doors that would open to a corridor that would lead into the lounge areas, the library, and the dining hall. On other side of the east stair case would be another set of doors that would lead to other parts of the castle…

He had picked the names long time ago, but hadn't spoken them aloud. Now, when his dreams finally had foundation, he could give them name. "Aterwick," Clay answered, his fingers tightening around the cane's handle. "The underground will be known as Aterwick. The castle will be Atrumfort."

Remus blinked with surprise. "You're naming this place _dark_?" he asked with slight disbelief.

"Fitting name for a vampire's dwelling, don't you agree?" Clay asked while Mognar cackled approvingly. The vampire continued looking around and instead of the crude foundations, he saw proud, strong castle that would house the future - a better future - of magic. For the first time in long while Clay allowed himself to smile.

-

The following Saturday, Clay woke up before sun had set and forced himself to stomach a potion that made him immune to the sun's light. He knew that he would be regretting it the next day when its effects would wear off and his body would begin repelling the potion, but he also knew that it would be worth it. Or at least he hoped it would.

It was slightly strange to enter a Wizarding pub during the day after getting used to the calm nights. The pub in Worcester wasn't gateway into any magical alley or anything of the sort, so it wasn't anywhere near as busy as Leaky Cauldron no doubt was. It was still busier that Leaky Cauldron was during nights - and most of all, its customers were only wizards and witches without even a single werewolf in sight.

When Clay stepped out of the fireplace after Flooing in, he was immediately put under scrutiny. Guessing seeing a strange face in their local pub was somewhat of a rarity, Clay tried not to make a spectacle out of himself. So, instead of asking for blood like he would've at Leaky Cauldron, he asked for the day's paper. As he read, he was stared for some time, but eventually people lost interest and begun talking amongst themselves.

Sitting in the corner of the pub, Clay examined the place's clientele over the paper, trying to find Mr Belby. His eyes passed over group of elderly wizards who were talking about the war against Grindelwald. He ignored the group of three witches who were sipping wine and gossiping. In table at the other end of the room, two wizards were playing cards, neither of them looked like people capable of making potions not to mention about something as difficult as Wolfsbane…

Then he saw a wizard sitting alone by the counter, nursing a wine glass. The man was dressed into dark blue robes that had unusually tight sleeves. Usually wizard robes had airy, wide sleeves - most wizards hid their wands in their sleeves so Clay supposed that to them it was easier. This wizard had the sleeves tightened around his wrists and arms with long line of buttons.

The vampire though back to the potions makers he had known. All of them had had tightened sleeves, now that he thought about it. Maybe it made potions making easier, not having to worry about dipping your sleeve accidentally into the potion you were brewing. Examining the man for a moment, Clay lowered his eyes to the paper. The man by the counter was probably Damocles Belby. Not only did he have robes suitable for potions maker, he was also drinking nettle wine.

After moment of consideration, Clay folded the newspaper, took his cane and walked up to the counter. The bartender was busy socialising with the group of elderly wizards, and no one really paid attention to Clay as he sat down beside the man with tightened sleeves. The man was thin with dirty blond hair and naturally wide eyes that gave him a slightly nervous look.

The man gave the vampire a look as Clay settled down. "You don't see vampires very often in these areas."

"I imagine not," the vampire answered calmly. "There are no vampire families around in Worcestershire, not that I know of."

"Then I guess you have some specific business here," the wizard answered, glancing towards the window. Sun hadn't set yet. "You're using the Sunsieve Solution?" the man asked with interest in his eyes. "I know how the potion is made and its effects, but I've never actually met a vampire who uses it… How do you perceive it, the potion?"

"One of the foulest creations of potions making," Clay answered with shrug. "Sure, it's useful for me, but I would prefer it without the side effects…"

"Ah," the man nodded. "I hear that it is quite… stomach twisting for a vampire."

"That's putting it lightly. Though, for a vampire every potion tends to have their unpleasant side-effects," the vampire shook his head before sizing the man with his eyes. "You're a potions maker, I guess?" he asked.

The man fiddled the sleeves of his robes and nodded. "Yes, I am," he answered, looking away. "You interested in potions making, Mr…?"

"Clay," the vampire answered. "And I guess so. I'm near complete rubbish when it comes to making potions, but they interest me. Especially new potions and the potions that one day might be created," he drummed the counter thoughtfully with his fingers. "There are many things that could be solved with potions… one just has to invent them."

"Very true," the wizard said with a solemn nod. "My name is Damocles Belby, by the way."

"Pleasure to meet you," Clay answered with a nod before looking at the man curiously. "You wouldn't happen to have any ideas to make Sunsieve less of a…" he searched for the right word to call the potion, but couldn't find a polite word that would be insulting enough.

Belby chuckled. "Sadly, no. At time there was thought of making Sunsieve a lotion like potion that vampires could apply on their skin, but studies showed that it was more effective when you absorbed it orally. Also, the potion has a very distinct smell… I doubt vampires would like to walk around smelling like that."

"You're right about that," Clay grimaced at the thought of smelling like the potion, which had odour somewhere between rotting fish and sewer. "Why is it that most important potions are also the foulest ones?" he mused, thinking the Wolfsbane. It too would be a rather foul potion.

"Possibly because if the potion is complicated, trying to affect the taste or the smell might make the potion a complete failure," Belby shook his head. "Adding or taking ingredients could ruin the potion's effectiveness and in worse cases give it some horrible side effects. I think people rather drink foul potions than have them doing something unexpected."

"You're right about that too," Clay mused before frowning as he remembered something. "I think the first version of Sunsieve turned the drinker's skin yellowish…"

"And occasionally orange," Belby nodded with a chuckle. "Mostly because the makers were trying to reduce the smell. Good example why people shouldn't care about tastes so much."

The vampire nodded thoughtfully before looking at the man. "Have you created any potions, Mr Belby?"

"Well… not yet," the man frowned. "I've been working on one potion that might make a great difference… but it is slow process. I don't have the necessary funds for proper testing - I can barely afford some of the ingredients I need," the man sighed. "I've tried to get funds from the Ministry - and from St Mungos - but I've never really got answer. I guess this is how every potions developer starts, but it's still frustrating at times."

Clay blinked slowly. Belby was already working on the Wolfsbane, but Ministry hadn't given him any funds? Frown appeared to the vampire's forehead. To think that the Ministry wasn't interested in development of potion that could turn dozens of dangerous creatures relatively harmless - as well as safe those said creatures from themselves. "What sort of potion are you working on?" he asked

"It's something I've been thinking about since before I graduated from Hogwarts," Belby said thoughtfully. "I got the idea when the Potions Teacher was teaching me how to make a blood replenishing potion… Anyway. There's a potion to help vampires, Sunsieve. There's also a potion to help people who have been attacked by vampires, that's why blood replenishing potion was created. But there's nothing to help werewolves with their transformation. We had just studied them in Defence Against the Dark Arts too…"

The man looked down to his wine glass. "I began working on it as soon as I graduated. Something to prevent the dementia, maybe mellow down the transformation itself. But like said… without the right funds I can't do much. It's also very hard to invent a potion when you have no one to test it on, werewolves are rarely sociable people."

Clay was quiet for a moment. It could be possible that the man would've invented the potion years ago but without the funds… The vampire frowned. "Ministry is starting to irritate me more and more each day," he muttered looking away. "There are lot of people who would need a potion like that," he thought back to his not-quite-assistant-yet and his frown darkened. "I know few of them personally."

Belby glanced at him carefully. "I wonder if it would be too much to ask you to introduce me to them?" the man asked hopefully. "Even werewolf hair would get me a long way with the research…"

Clay shook his head. "I could, but… I have a better idea," he said with a thoughtful look. "I'll fund you." He had the money and he definitely had the need. The sooner the potion was created the better. Also having the man in his circle of acquaintances would come no doubt in hand later on.

As Belby gave him a dumbstruck look, the vampire shrugged. "Like said, I know some werewolves personally and their lives would be whole lot easier with potion like the one you plan to create. I've… gathered bit of wealth during my years, and nothing pleases me more than putting it to good use. And this definitely would be a good use of it."


	9. VIII Plain ward maker

**VIII chapter**

**Plain ward-maker**

The Ministry of Magic controls too much. The public is one thing, very big and important thing, but just one thing of many they control. They also control the sports to degree. They control the transportation and the mail. They control the spell creation and development. They control what new magical instruments are made - and what muggle instruments are incorporated into magic. They control the potions industry. They control the press, not just the newspapers but the books as well. They even control the equipment used in magic - cauldrons, telescopes… They even control a person's magic until they turn seventeen - not to mention about controlling their education as well.

This is entirely too much control in the hands of governing unit. They should not have a say in when and where sports events are held. They should not have the ability to choose what mail you get and what you don't - and when they start reading your private letters, that's where things really go wrong. The Trace that tracks underage magic users is in a way useful but it has too many faults that can be exploited. And why does Minister for Magic have a say in how a school is run and what it teachers?

But what annoys and angers me most is the control they have over the things in development. With a single act they can turn a potentially useful instrument illegal and useless. Many muggle instruments would be useful in the magical world if people would just know them and make them work with magic. The spell creators are also under continuous control. In a way it makes sense, it wouldn't be good at all if people would be allowed to just invent potentially dangerous spells, but some of the spells Ministry bans are not dangerous at all. Potions too, they are either banned as dangerous or their developers are denied the necessary funds to complete them. Just because they are inconvenient to the Ministry.

Of course, there is also the wand control. Of all the creatures in the Wizarding world, there are only three races that can use wands. Magical humans, dwarves and werewolves. Everyone else is banned from even touching them - house-elves, goblins, centaurs, hags, veelas, banshees, vampires and all other half-beings and beasts can all be killed on the spot if they touch someone's wand. It's also very convenient to allow dwarves use wands - because they don't. The dwarves that have any interest in spell casting are extremely rare and if they do have it they don't use wand to do it.

Though, I will have to say that humans are the only creatures that really need wand. House-elves developed magic which at best can easily rival human magic - it's just the wiling slavery which makes them weak. Goblins, of course, have number of tricks at their disposal, most dealing with warding and magical protections. Centaurs are happier without magic, as long as they have their sight. Hags also have their own magic that needs no wands though I hear they mostly concentrate on potion making. Veelas too have their own magic which is unlike that of humans. Banshees as well. Vampires, perhaps, have it worst because some of us have been wizards once, but even we have our own magic

Ministry can take wands and they can take the spells, but magic is universal. Even the Ministry's laws cannot take it from us.

- Clay

-

Remus was sitting in the bar of the Leaky Cauldron. It was rather early for him, since it was only the evening and the sun hadn't yet completely set. There were still wizards and witches about, eating late dinners and using the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace to Floo back home after spending the day shopping. While watching them, the werewolf marvelled at how he could consider evening to be early. With Mr Clay he had somehow ended up thinking night as the proper daytime.

He turned back to his tea and smiled with little bit of sad amusement. After the full moon his sleeping cycle had been slightly disturbed. He had gone bed earlier in the morning and woke up in the evening. Sure, after the stress of the full moon, sleeping a bit longer had been welcome. However now he was forced to wait for Mr Clay to wake up, and the man wouldn't be up before sun set completely. Especially after the man woken up early last night and stayed up late, working on something with the goblins.

"Would you like another cup, Remus?" the innkeeper asked, noticing that his tea was running out.

"Yes, thank you Tom," the werewolf nodded. In the time he had spend in the Leaky Cauldron - living at Mr Clay's expense - he had gotten surprisingly familiar with the innkeeper. Even though he spent more time around the vampire, he hadn't achieved the same sort of familiarity with him. Mr Clay was slightly distant with him - politely so but distant nonetheless.

The barkeeper filled his tea cup. "Have you made decision about Mr Clay's offer?" Tom asked while leaning his elbows to the counter. "You've been running after him for a while now, you should by now know what the job would entail."

"Yeah, mostly it's about running after him," Remus chuckled, while adding two sugars into the cup. "I can see why he needs assistant though. The place he's building is enormous and I have inkling that he will be doing some sort of business there," he took the cup to his hands and warmed his fingers against the porcelain. "He keeps calling the place a shelter…"

"Hmm…" Tom nodded. He didn't know about the Aterwick and Remus hadn't told him, but he knew about Atrumfort. The castle alone was big enough to shelter dozens of people - if the residential wings would be as big as Clay wanted them to be. "But shelter for whom?"

Remus looked at the cup for a moment, not sure if he was allowed to share his thoughts about the whole thing. Mr Clay wasn't exactly secretive about the castle, but the underground was only known to Remus, Mr Clay, the dwarves and the nymphs. And the vampire probably wanted to keep it that way.

"I'm not sure, but… I think he might make it shelter for, well, us," he then spoke. "Vampires, werewolves and all others such as us. He keeps calling all of us his kind - to him even I seem to be kin somehow," Remus shook his head. "He's a strange guy, Mr Clay. He has a strange way of looking at the world. It's like he sees it in way no one does."

"I've noticed that too," Tom nodded. "He does seem to have some sort of deeper insight on things around him. For a vampire he is definitely unusual. I don't think I've never actually met a vampire who has never drank human blood." "Never? But don't vampires come here all the time?" Remus asked with surprise.

"They do. But vampires like Mr Clay are very rare," the innkeeper shook his head. "I once talked with a vampire about it. She said that vampires can smell human's blood and hear their heartbeats all the time, even when human's aren't bleeding in any way. It's like never ending temptation to them because human blood, according to her, tastes and certainly smells the best," Tom looked thoughtful. "And usually it doesn't take long at all for vampire to fall to the temptation."

Remus blinked and then turned thoughtful as well. "I wonder how long Mr Clay has been a vampire," he murmured. "And if the temptation is so big, how can he ignore it."

"I guess he, unlike most vampires, doesn't exist solely to drink blood. He drinks it only because he needs to," Tom shrugged. "Very unusual vampire indeed." The barkeeper looked up suddenly, making Remus look over his shoulder. A thin man with dirty blond hair was approaching the counter.

"Excuse me," the man said. "Does Mr Clay reside in this inn by any chance? He said that this is where I could meet him…"

"Yes, he has a room here," Tom nodded, glancing at the window. The light outside told that sun was still up. "He's sleeping right now, I think. He usually won't wake up before sunset."

"Ah yes, of course," the man murmured with slight frown. "I guess I will wait for him then," he said and after moment of nervous thought he sat down beside Remus. "You wouldn't happen to have any nettle wine, would you?" the man looked at Tom hopefully.

"Of course," the innkeeper smiled. "Just wait a moment and I'll open a bottle for you."

"Thank you," the man nodded and watched as Tom walked away.

Remus eyed the man curiously. Something told him that the man was a potions maker - possibly the tight sleeves of his robes, all potions makers seemed to have sleeves like that. "You know Mr Clay, Mr…?"

"Belby, Damocles Belby," the blonde man nodded. "I met him yesterday actually. He offered a business deal of sorts to me and I saw no need to decline. He told me to come here this evening so that we could talk about it more, take care of the details and all," the man shrugged. "So here I am."

"Business deal?" Remus asked curiously, before catching himself. "I'm sorry. My names is Remus Lupin I'm… probably going to be Mr Clay's assistant." So far he hadn't seen any reason not to decline the man's offer - Mr Clay's business with the Aterwick was slightly suspicious but nothing dangerous or illegal. "Perhaps. I'm contemplating on it."

"Are you really?" Belby looked delighted. "Then you must know more about him. He seems like rather unusual individual…"

"Yeah, that he certainly seems to be," Remus nodded. For the following half a hour they mused about Mr Clay and other vampires, as they waited for the sunset. But, unlike Remus and Tom had thought, Mr Clay did not come down when sunset. They waited for quarter of an hour before getting slightly worried. Mr Clay usually woke up the minute sun set.

"I'll check on him," Remus finally decided, draining the last of his cooling tea before heading towards the stairs. Upstairs he sought his way to Mr Clay's door and after listening a moment he knocked. When he didn't get an answer, he knocked again. "Mr Clay, Damocles Belby is here to see you. He has been waiting for almost an hour," the werewolf called through the door.

He heard something that sounded disturbingly like stumbling. While trying to figure out what the sound was - since Mr Clay wasn't the sort to stumble - Remus waited. When the door was opened, he couldn't but stare in shock at the vampire who had wrapped himself into the duvet of his bed. The vampire's hair was a mess, his face had a slight greenish tint, his glasses were askew, his eyes were red and he looked very thoroughly sick. If Remus didn't know better he wouldn't have recognised this man as the regal, confident vampire Mr Clay usually was.

Noticing the look Remus was giving him, Mr Clay shook his head. "Trust me, I feel worse than I look. Tell Mr Belby that I'm in no condition to do business today. I'm suffering of a very robust patch of Sunsieve… Or actually I have a better idea. You do business with him," the vampire rubbed eye with the heel of his hand with a tired look about his face. The action pushed his glasses even more askew but he didn't seem to notice. "Be my assistant at least for the day."

"Huh?" Remus asked with shock. "But I don't even know what to do!"

"It won't be difficult at all. Just settle the whole matter with him, make notes of what he needs and then go to Gringotts. They should have the paper work ready for you," the vampire walked back into the room, leaving the door open. As Remus marvelled the state of chaos in the room - the clothing thrown to the floor, long coat hanging by the bedpost - Mr Clay walked to the desk and took a slip of parchment. After writing something into it, he folded it and returned to Remus. "Give this to young goblin named Dirshowl. He should know what to do from there on."

"B-but!" Remus argued, feeling overwhelmed.

"I have trust in your abilities. Just don't promise him more than ten-thousand Galleons, not without talking to me first. Any sum under that it's acceptable, though. I'm sure you'll do fine," Clay dismissed his shock. "And now, if you'll excuse me… I'll go back to bed before I get sick again." With that said the vampire closed the door, leaving Remus standing in the hall with piece of parchment in his hand

Feeling numb, Remus returned downstairs. Tom and Mr Belby looked up expectantly. The werewolf shook his head "He said he's in no condition to work today. Something about robust patch of Sunsieve," he said, remembering that the Sunsieve Solution was the potion that made vampires immune to sunlight.

Mr Belby grimaced. "He'll be sick for the entire night then, poor man," he murmured. "Sunsieve alone will make vampire eventually sick, but if it's to strong, for vampire is rather like food poisoning."

Remus grimaced. "I wonder if ability to walk in sun is worth that," he said while sitting down to the counter. He shook his head. "Mr Clay more or less forced me to be his stand in," he said to Mr Belby. "Told me to 'settle the whole matter, make notes and then go to Gringotts'. Said that the goblins would have the paper work ready. What sort of business are you doing with Mr Clay anyway?"

"He offered to fund my research," the blonde man answered. "I'm a potions maker you see, and I'm trying to develop a potion that seems to interest Mr Clay. So far I haven't had any luck because of the lack of funding. The funds Mr Clay promised me will take my research far."

"Potions?" Remus asked curiously. "What sort of potion? It must be something special to interest him."

"You could say that. Most people seem to think that I'm just wasting my time, but he seemed to think that it was very important," Belby seemed somehow pleased that someone had taken interest in his work. "I'm trying to create a potion that would mellow down werewolf's transformation. Stop the dementia, level down the transformation itself…"

Remus stared at the man in shock. "Really?" he asked.

"Yes. I've been working on it for a while, but the lack of funds has slowed me down. There's a department in the Ministry that usually helps people who are trying to invent something new, like potions makers such as myself, but so far they have denied all my requests for funds," the man sighed. "Mr Clay's offer is heaven's sent for me."

"H-how would the potion work?" Remus asked in shock while Tom leaned forward, clearly curious as well.

"I'm not sure yet, it's no where near finished," Belby shook his head. "But I believe that best way to go about it is using Monkshood base…" he went onto explaining he ingredients of the potion and how they interacted with each other, but most of the explanation was utterly incomprehensible to Remus. "But this all is just theory," Belby continued. "I haven't had the chance for proper research - and experiment has been completely out of question. It's hard to invent potion for werewolves when you don't know a single person suffering lycanthropy."

Remus and Tom glanced at each other. Then Remus spoke. "I'm a werewolf," he said carefully.

"And I know a sum of werewolves," Tom nodded. "Some would be delighted to help you with something like this. The Lygurgus family for one. They've had it especially rough."

"Really?" Belby looked shell-shocked.

"I'm sure they would jump even at the mention of something to help them with the transformation. Many werewolves have waited for decades for potion like the sort you're trying to invent," Tom nodded thoughtfully. "It's no wonder Mr Clay took interest in your work."

"This is amazing," Mr Belby said with awe. "Not only do I get the funds but you'll help me meet werewolves who might be willing to help me? Incredible. I might actually get this potion developed."

Remus nodded, feeling a bit excited himself. Whatever suspicions he had had of Mr Clay before, this swept them all away. By funding this man, the vampire was possibly doing the greatest service anyone had ever done to the werewolf population. "Let's settle the fund thing first," he said, pulling out the notebook he had been using to keep tract the things happening around Mr Clay. "Would you tell me a bit about the things you need and how much money they would cost?"

Mr Bellby launched into explanation. His potions laboratory was sorely unfitting for proper working - he had been forced to buy most of his equipment second hand which certainly didn't make them suitable of his work. For his research it would be best if he could update the place. Also, he was in dire need of some books, most which were quite expensive and rare. There was also the matter of potion ingredients - some of them were quite pricy as well.

"If one day you'll be able to test this potion, you'll need a proper facility to do it," Remus added his own thoughts. "Also, if you need to take samples of werewolf in their transformed form, you need proper equipment for that too. Werewolves aren't easy to subdue after all…"

Belby nodded with agreement while Remus summed down the expenses Belby would need. The laboratory could be updated with thousand galleons - little bit more if he would want to make it the place to keep a werewolf for the testing and sample purposes. The books would sum up to five hundred galleons and the potions ingredients would take another six hundred. In the end, it wasn't no where near the ten thousand line Mr Clay had set - but Belby was apparently making a cheapest possible estimation.

Remus bit his lip. The vampire had said that any sum under ten thousand would do, and this sum didn't even reach three thousand. Wouldn't Belby's research become easier if the man had little bit of extra? The sooner the potion would be finished the better for him, but… was he in position to make that choice? It was Mr Clay's money, though the man certainly had enough to spend…

After a moment of hesitation, the werewolf made a choice. If Mr Clay would be against it later on, then so be it, but hopefully it wouldn't make the vampire withdraw his funds. In Remus's opinion, Belby should have everything he needed to make the potion as soon as possible, hopefully Mr Clay wouldn't disagree with that.

Looking up to the potions maker, Remus nodded and closed the notebook. "Shall we visit Gringotts to finalise it? According to Mr Clay they should have the paper world drawn out."

"Yes, lets," Belby nodded with excitement.

At Gringotts, after Remus had delivered the vampire's message to the goblins, they found that the paper work was indeed ready and it already had Mr Clay's signature too. All it was waiting for the sum that would be extracted from Mr Clay's vault and given to Belby - as well as Belby's signature. Remus wrote down the sum and shocked Belby signed the paper. The goblin Dirshowl nodded with satisfaction and told that the money would be transferred to Mr Belby before morning.

Later that night when it was almost morning, Mr Clay finally came down from the upstairs - if only to drink a cup of blood and head back up again. While the man was trying to stomach the blood - the man looked like drinking the blood was making him sick - Remus reported what happened.

"So you gave him five thousand?" the vampire asked, examining his goblet with distaste. "Good choice. He might need more later on - with potions research you never really know how much money you need - but five thousand is a good starting sum."

"Starting sum…?" Remus asked with shock.

"Yes," Mr Clay seemed amused. "He's a man who will create a potion that will help dozens of werewolves. If he has that brewing in his head, he probably has more incredible ideas there too. They're just waiting to be invented, and I'm going to make sure he has free hands with them."

Remus shook his head in awe. Mr Clay really was unusual individual. "I think I will accept your proposal," the young werewolf then said. "I would very much like to be your assistant Mr Clay."

The vampire nodded with satisfaction. "Good to hear."

-

Sometime after Mr Belby's funds were settled - and Clay had recovered from his bout of sickness - Mognar came to him with surprising news. The castle's foundations were ready and the wall around the estate was finished. It was time to call in the ward-makers.

"You people work very quickly," the vampire murmured while looking through the report Mognar had written of the progress. He had seen the construction himself, but he wasn't in anyway knowledgeable about such things, so he hadn't been able to tell how far along the foundations were. "I see you've added your notes about the possible warding centres."

"Wordsmith finally came to the construction site," Mognar explained. "He's the beardless anvil-dropper I mentioned. He looked around and named the spots. Said that the nymphs did especially good jobs at those spots and that magic still residing in them would make the centring easier," the black bearded dwarf ran his stubby fingers over his braided beard. "They're not bad spots. Two will be secured under the staircases, three are in spots where we will build walls and the rest will be under the floor and can be secured with statues and such if necessary."

"Centring?" Remus, who was once again taking notes, asked confusedly.

"It's action in warding. The protective spells are centred into one spot, usually around some durable object like rock or lump of metal, that is then secured in place, like under floor or by sinking it into earth," Clay explained. "They will then be connected to the actual ward stones which will determine the size and the shape of the ward…"

"Okay, I think I understand it… but why so many centres?" the werewolf asked.

"No proper ward relies on single centre, boy," Mognar shook his head. "Each centre backs up the other centres, so that if one of the centre fail, the others still keep up the wards. Same with the ward stones. I hear that these days Hogwarts has over thousand of them."

"Hogwarts has very large wards so it needs lots of stones," Clay nodded. "Mine won't be even nearly as large, though. Just large enough to enclose the valley," he lowered the report of the construction. "I guess the next step for us is to find some ward-makers then."

"Do you have anyone in mind?" Mognar asked. "Wordsmith can throw his wards if you want him to, but he's more of a scientist than a ward-maker."

"I don't know any ward-makers, but the manager of Leaky Cauldron knows few freelancers. And as it usually is, I suspect all the freelancer ward-makers know each other," the vampire mused.

"You make it sound like you're planning to hire them all," Remus mused with a slight smile.

"I am," Clay answered calmly and ignored the look Remus and Mognar exchanged. The vampire shook his head amusedly. "It will be home for me and mine. I'm not going to be cheap about it. I already hired the best builders to make it. I'm not sure who is the best ward-maker to make the protections so I'll just hire them all and pay for the result. If they to shoddy work, that is how they will be paid."

"Good policy. Never pay for promises," Mognar nodded with appreciation. "How long do you think it will take for you to contact the ward-makers?"

"Hopefully not long at all, but I don't know yet. I'll keep you informed."

-

The first ward-maker Clay and Remus met lived near Leaky Cauldron and was a regular customer at the bar. He was a middle aged man with short dark brown hair and patch of beard in his chin, dressed casually into muggle clothing. Just the way he walked into the bar told the two dark creatures that the man was either muggleborn or raised in muggle environment. No wizard born in wizard family could make muggle clothing look as comfortable as muggleborn one could.

"You're the guy who needs wards?" the man asked from Clay after changing few words with Tom. "Name's Jake Howell," the man offered his hand casually. He certainly neither looked or acted like a man who was trying to apply for a job.

"You can call me Clay, and this my assistant Remus Lupin," the vampire answered after giving the man's hand a shake. He didn't seem bothered by the ward-maker's casualness at all as he sat down. "Tell me about your expertise."

"Not much. I'm not exactly a ward-maker either, but I guess I'm good at it," Howell answered easily. "I graduated from Hogwarts with average score. After graduating I found a muggle job while studying randomly whatever interested me at the time. Eventually I turned into warding since it seemed to incorporate my two best skills, Arithmancy and Charms," the man scratched the patch of beard lazily. "I've warded few houses for people I know for reasonable compensation. Helped to reinforce some of the spells at Diagon Alley after the war ended, the battles jostled them around a bit. I also re-did the spells that prevent muggles from seeing Leaky Cauldron, that was just half an year ago."

"Don't let the man fool you, Mr Clay," Tom said while approaching their table with drinks. "When I went to school, Jake was in class two years below me. Before he finished his third year the Arithmancy professor was claiming that he was a genius - and the Charms professor had been saying that since his first year."

"Arithmancy is easy… if you have good solid background of having a mathematician for a father," Howell snorted while taking the butterbeer handed to him by the bartender. "Charms was easy too, in the end all you need is knowledge of Latin and good imagination. Might help that my mother was a Latin teacher, though. Kind of sad really. When other kids were playing around with letters and numbers, I was learning archaic languages and algebra."

Clay brushed his hand over his chin thoughtfully while examining the man with his eyes. Then he nodded with satisfaction. "You're hired." His words shocked both Remus and Tom, but Howell didn't seem overly surprised.

"Just like that?" the man raised his eyebrows while raising butterbeer and taking a sip. "Quickly made choice. Was it the genius bit Tom said or what I said about my parents?"

"Both and neither," Clay leaned back, still eyeing the man thoughtfully. "Mostly is because you don't carry a wand." When Howell seemed surprised, the vampire raised his right hand - the same hand he had used to shake Howell's hand, the same had he had brushed over his chin. "No scent of wood or wand polish. It sticks to the fingers of most wizards and is transferred when you shake hands. It's usually too faint for human to sense it but for one like me it's strong enough. Your right hand doesn't have it."

"I could be left handed," Howell pointed out.

"Right, and that's why you hold that pint in your right," Clay nodded amusedly. "But you're true. The lack of scent isn't good enough proof. The another proof of the lack of wand is the fact that you simply don't carry one. And no, it's in your pocket or in your sleeves or any other place on you. Only thing you have in your pockets are you wallet and your keys."

"You're good," Howell nodded with bit of respect while Tom and Remus shared a strange look. "But it could be that I'm left handed wizard who left his wand home."

"Even a left handed wizard doesn't leave his wand at home when he goes to a meeting with a vampire after sunset," Clay seemed even more amused. "You're very good, Mr Howell, at pretending. But you can't fool my senses. You haven't used a wand in years."

"Excuse me…" Remus piped in carefully. "But isn't that a bad thing? How does he do magic without wand?"

Howell chuckled while Clay shock his head. "Because he doesn't need one," the vampire explained. "I guess at some point he realised that it simply wasn't necessary and stopped using it."

"I was actually tricked. My friend switched my wand into a fake one that looked exactly like mine," Howell chuckled with look of nostalgic on his face. "I kept doing magic normally for a week before she confessed it. I was too shocked by the fact that I've been doing wandless magic all week to even be angry at her for it. I still have the wand, though. I just never use it."

"How is that possible?" Remus asked with confused awe while even Tom looked shocked.

"It's difficult to explain. It's different with each case," Clay murmured thoughtfully. "How do you do wandless magic, Mr Howell?"

"With precision. That's all you really need," the ward-maker chuckled and ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly. "You have the spell, you have the calculation of the magic you use and you have the intent on what you use it… it's not all that hard really." The explanation didn't seem to make it any easier for Remus to understand, though.

"Some people have the more or less raw talent to understand magic," Clay explained softly. "The way they understand it is different with each case… but when you reach a certain point in studying magic, you no longer need any aid to do it. Wands are no longer necessity, you don't need to even learn spells, you either make them up on the spot or you just imagine the result…"

"What's the point?" Remus asked eagerly. "The point where wands no longer are necessary, I mean. Or is it just that when you know enough…?"

"No. It has something to do with your mind, so it's different with every individual who reaches that point," the vampire tapped his forehead. "I'd like to think that it's a bit of concentrated madness. Your mind either bypasses reason and reality or bends them to suit it's needs. Magic, after all, isn't solely set on rules, and you don't make magic just by wand and spells. Each spell has a mental component people are often completely unaware of."

Howell nodded in agreement and launched into explanation. "In Hogwarts they give you spells, tell how they work, what they do and how to pronounce them. You believe that they will work because the teachers tell you that they do. That belief you are completely unaware of, that little bit of faith that comes without intention, makes magic happen," he smiled a little. "And with more complicated spells you use more of your mind and different mental components."

"Like the Patronus charm for example," Clay nodded. "You need a happy memory to do it because the Patronus will be embodiment of happiness. Of course there is the spell and the right wand movement, but the happy memory is much more important than they are. Most spells work like that when you think about it. Either with a memory, imagination, thought or something similar."

"Good example," Howell praised.

"Thank you," Clay nodded.

"Well then, wandless magic and all aside, what sort of wards do you have in mind, Clay?" Howell asked, leaning forward slightly. "I would like to know what I've been hired to do. Oh, and there's the money issue too," the man blinked as if he had forgotten it entirely. "You're going to pay me for this, right?"

"Yes I am," the vampire assured amusedly. "But I pay for results, not for intent."

"Understandable," the wizard nodded. "Tell me about the wards then."

In the end, Clay didn't hire a punch of ward-makers. He decided that Jake Howell was all they would need - and the best they could possibly get. The vampire and his werewolf assistant even ended up taking the man to the construction site the very same night so that the man could have first look around. There they also met the dwarf magician, Wordsmith.

Wordsmith was older than even Hargal. His beard and hair were both silver and even though they were both braided they were still long enough to reach the ground. He was dressed into greyish leather coat that had many pockets. Scrolls, pieces of parchment and books were sticking out of those pockets.

"So you're the vampire who wants this monstrosity build," the old dwarf sized Clay up with his sharp blue eyes. "You don't look like much."

"Thank you," Clay said pleasantly as if he had received compliment. "You're not as beardless as Mognar led me to assume, but you're definitely an anvil-dropper. No doubt about that. You don't even have a dwarf name."

The old dwarf snorted. "I see why Mognar likes you, fiend," Wordsmith nodded. "And I find that Wordsmith is a better name for me than the one my father gave to me. He had the misguided thought that I would become a warrior or something. Poor pompous little sewer-rat almost had a heart attack when I decided that mining or forging or fighting wasn't for me." The old dwarf turned his eyes to Howell, who had been eying the dwarf curiously. After moment of staring, Wordsmith looked at Clay with disbelief. "This guy's the one you'll have doing the wards? Is he the best you got?"

"He's the best I got," Clay nodded calmly while leaning slightly to his cane. Remus seemed slightly surprised that Howell didn't seem least bit insulted. "You've already found good spots for the centres?" the vampire then inquired from the dwarf. "Could you show them to Mr Howell?"

"Fine," the old dwarf nodded and turned around. He made a motion with his hand as if summoning a dog. "Come along Shovel."

"It's Howell actually," the ward-maker said amusedly while following the dwarf.

"That's what I said, Shovel."

After they had walked out of the hearing range, Remus glanced at his employer. "You really think that Howell is up for the job, sir?" he asked carefully before turning his eyes back to the two magicians. Beside the silver beaded dwarf, Howell looked very muggle-like. "If you don't mind me saying so, he doesn't seem like much."

"People like him rarely bother with appearances," Clay shook his head while watching how Wordsmith begun pointing at something in the foundations, which Howell then crouched to examine. "I suspect he has no need to impress people - might be that he has no need for anything, really. When you reach the level of skill he has, almost everything becomes possible."

"Then why does he dress like that, why does… Tom said that he lives in muggle world and has a muggle job," Remus frowned with confusion. "And he even forgot to ask after payment for doing this job. If he's so skilled, why he's like that, why does he live like that?"

"Because he wants to, I suppose," the vampire glanced at the werewolf. "Not all skilled people want to flaunt their skill. He has unique gift, and it's true that most people would use that ability to greater degree to achieve their ends, whatever they may be… but he lacks ambition most people have. Simple life might be all he wants," Clay looked up again. "I think even the money I will eventually pay for him means nothing to Mr Howell - he'll probably give it away. He isn't doing this for compensation. He's just indulging us."

"You like him, huh?" Remus mused. He couldn't help but grin a little at how Wordsmith whacked Howell to the back of the man's head. The ward-maker just laughed it off, though there was awkward quality to the man's grin as raised his hand to assess the damage.

"He's the kind of person I've always wanted to be, I guess," Clay shook his head with mild amusement. It was impossible to say if the amusement was directed at the antics of the two spell-casters or at the vampire himself. "But sadly, I have too much ambition to lead such a simple life, no matter how I dream of it."

--

Merryish X-mas


	10. IX Facetious vampire

**IX chapter**

**Facetious vampire**

There is really no one leader for all living dead vampires. There are the "aristocrat" families that may have other vampires working for them, but they don't really lead other vampires as such. Even though vampires more often than not gather into families that hold from five to sixty members, their society rarely works and moves as one as a nation would, and there is no one vampire that decide for all. And they're fine living that way.

But though they are not unified, the living dead are well connected. There is not a single vampire "aristocrat" in this world that doesn't know few other "nobles" - and usually the ones they know are the ones that live closest to them. Some of the oldest vampire lords and ladies have made it their goal to know every other vampire "noble". This network of nobility works mostly because if vampires are something, then they are zestful - even more so than humans.

Vampires that do not enjoy dancing, laughing and having fun are rare. Most of us enjoy music, good literature, intelligent company, art and such to the point that we surround ourselves with such things for the entirety of our lifespan. It might be because of our long lives - when you look at the world through eyes that can see hundreds of years, you begin to appreciate the momentary entertainment of celebrations, lasting beauty of creations and art and of course company that suits us, company that matches us.

This zestfulness usually takes form in large houses, usually mansions, that are filled with art works and music and which have large ball rooms. In vampire world there is not month - rarely even a week - when someone isn't holding a dance where everyone they can reach is invited. And usually those invited go because… most of us don't have anything better to do really.

But thanks to these parties, all vampires, especially the so called aristocrats, tend to be well connected. Everyone knows someone of importance and those of importance know many. It's not exactly society as humans tend to think of it, but it works for the living dead. These parties work not only as celebrations and social networking but most often than not they are events of information gathering. In a party the highest lord around will learn almost about everything the lower aristocrats and possibly their workers have done. If something less decent has happened, the lord will know - and if it's indecent enough, the party just may turn into trial and sometimes even execution.

The living dead, whether anyone knows about it or not, are well aware and often quite worried about the way they appear to the world. They do not consider themselves as the monsters humans think they are and for ages they have tries to unhinge the belief. That is why there is no undead in this world that would be safe among living dead - we often execute undead on sight. That is also why the social networking of celebrations is important - in those we come to know about possible serial killers among our kind, vampires who kill their victims and feed without restraint.

Such killers are very quickly trialled and executed. There is no space for such dishonour in the vampire world. We may be monsters, we may live of blood and revel in sin, but we are not rabid beasts. And if there are vampires promoting that beastly behaviour… well they usually do not live long.

It's a pity, though. The vampire network is wide spread and powerful thing. There are vampires in every country of the world and they tend to know each other - even if it's through that lord's little brother's childes friend's sire's another childe. Vampire society could be among the most powerful information networks in the world - if they did not make it a point to separate themselves from human societies.

But then again, it's understandable. Humans have habit of chasing us with pieces of wood, symbolic jewellery and vegetables. Because of that it's sometimes just too embarrassing to come out to the open.

- Clay

-

Remus looked through the notes he had been writing and gathering in the last days. One set of notes centred on the warding process. He had been a bit worried about Jake Howell at first - the man really looked and acted nothing like wizard was supposed to - but it seemed like his worries had been pointless.

The dwarf magician, Wordsmith, had quickly taken liking to the man - though he expressed it rather strangely. Most of the other dwarves seemed to like the man too, saying something that Howell wasn't a "stuck up dainty" like most wizards. They apparently thought robes looked like dresses and since Howell didn't wear robes… Thankfully, Howell did seem to know what he was doing. He and Wordsmith had already selected the centres - they were going to use iron cubes from Dweorgas mine that Clay was going to pay for. They were currently charting out the perimeter and selecting the ward stones.

Remus smiled a little at the personal note he had written about the situation. "Wordsmith is threatening to take Howell out for a drink. So far the man has managed to avoid it but I suspect he won't be able to run from it for long." With amused shake of his head he turned to the other set of notes. These one centred on Mr Belby - who had taken habit of sending reports of what he was doing rather often, much to Clay's delight.

Belby had updated his potions laboratory and was waiting for most of the books to be delivered - he was also finishing the cage for test subjects though it seemed like the man didn't want to use it. Apparently Tom had also pointed the man to the direction of the Lygurgus family, who after initial suspicion had welcomed Belby in with open arms. It also seemed like Lyall Lygurgus was somewhat of a magical scientist and one his adopted sons, Connor, was an amateur herbologist. In the end they seemed to end up as Belby's partners rather than as test subjects - and with Damocles Belby's knowledge with potions, Connor Lygurgus's knowledge of herbs and plants and Lyall Lygurgus's knowledge of magical theory and magic's consequences… it worked very well.

In the end it seemed like things were going well. The warding would begin soon and the Belby group were already starting to theorise about best possible ways of going about with the potion. Belby was estimating that they would start working with the potion soon, maybe they could even make small tests within month. Howell and Wordsmith on other hand were adamant about finishing the wards within next three weeks - that they would be finished before November.

Remus started to gather his notes, carefully glancing up to his employer. Everything was going well so… why was Mr Clay so worried about something? Ever since waking up that evening the vampire had had a worried look about his face and even a cup of fresh cow's blood hadn't eased the man's tension.

After closing his note book Remus turned to the vampire. "Mr Clay, is there something wrong?"

The black haired living dead glanced at the werewolf before smiling briefly and looking away. "I've been working on this project for a while now," he murmured. "But they haven't made any contact with me. The damage made to their society by the war must've been worse than I thought…"

"Whose society?" Remus asked with confusion.

"Vampires," Clay shook his head and frowned a little. "By now people must've heard of me - you can't hire as many dwarves as I have and not be noticed. According to Tom most of the nightly guests already whisper about me… but the vampires have made no contact whatsoever. It's… slightly worrying."

The werewolf blinked slowly, not quite understanding. "You want to gain contact with the other vampires, Mr Clay?" he asked then. "Why don't you contact them yourself?"

"Doesn't work like that. I have no intention making myself a servant to any of them but I'm not an aristocrat either," Clay shook his head. "I wasn't a born a vampire, that also lowers my stature. If I contact them it can be taken in two ways. One, I want protection of a lord by becoming an acquiescent quest in someone's house… or two, my stature is high enough for me to approach other vampires in equal ground. And neither is quite true."

The vampire sighed, taking his goblet and whirling the blood in it absently. "Vampire society is casual and loose thing, they don't have rules or laws as you human do… but there is unwritten doctrine of manners that must be kept. Respect for superiors is one of the unwritten principles and very few vampires would even want to go against it - vampires are swift to execute those among them that do not please them."

Remus' eyes widened. "They could kill you if they thought you insulted them?"

"They could try," Clay smiled sarcastically and took a sip of his blood. "I'm not worried about that - my wealth alone would make them wary about making direct assaults on my person, but… I am eager to make acquaintances within the vampire families. I'm bringing about a change and right now distance between myself and others of my kind is not something I want."

"So… you want them to contact you but they haven't and that worries you…" Remus nodded slowly.

"Yes, that about sums it up, Mr Lupin. Usually they are quick to take notice of ones such as me - possible new players," the vampire chuckled. "Especially since I'm usually in company of more… lively people than myself," he glanced at Remus with a smile. "They should've at least noticed your presence at my side and the fact that I've made business with the dwarves should be known as well… they should be curious about it."

Remus shifted in his seat, feeling slight discomfort due to the thought of being source of curiosity for vampires. "Why do you think they haven't?"

"Because of the war, possibly," Clay frowned. "The enemy might've had some vampires working for him. I know for a fact that he did try to get the vampires to join his cause. That sort of thing darkens the reputation of my kind even more - things like that make the vampiric society withdraw from rest of the world for some time. And even if they do come out to the open, they do it cautiously and most probably to watch people, gauge their opinions. The living dead are waiting for people's opinions to cool down, waiting until they can make a move and attempt to regain better reputation."

The vampire sighed and drained the rest of the blood in his goblet. "I guess all I can do now is wait," he murmured, lowering the goblet. "With vampires you just never know how long you will have to wait. It can be anything from hours to years really."

-

After the discussion about vampiric manners with Clay, Remus took the late morning off to visit the local library to study about the subject. It had seemed fascinating - the idea that someone as powerful as Clay would be forced to wait because he wasn't weak enough or simply didn't have the right name.

British wizards had forsaken most of concepts of nobility when Wizard Council had been dismantled and Wizengamot had taken its place, and of course when the Ministry of Magic had been build. There still where those who held onto the old beliefs of aristocracy - for example the Black Lord had sometimes been called a Duke and late Abraxas Malfoy had demanded that he would be called Viscount Malfoy. Even with these individual cases, most didn't believe in such hierarchy anymore since the power these days was in the hands of those who were in Ministry.

The idea of vampires still holding onto nobility was interesting… but sadly it wasn't mentioned in any Dark Creatures book Remus encountered. Most books, that had anything about vampires, detailed the best ways of recognising vampires and fighting them - most often telling how to kill them. It wasn't all that surprising though, with Clay Remus had started to realise just how little wizards knew about other races. Their lack of information in this subject was hardly shocking. What was surprising was that Remus actually took a bit of insult on Clay's behalf at the thought that the man could be banished with a cross.

The only vampire nobles Remus encountered during this study sessions were in history book. Lord Vlad Drakul from late fourteenth century had been a count and Lady Carmilla Sanguina from mid sixteenth century to mid nineteenth century had been a countess. They had both been very known vampires - Count Drakul had even inspired a muggle book. Neither of the two had been anything like Clay, though. Count Drakul had preyed on young women, often turning them into vampires - his brides. Lady Sanguina on other hand had killed several young maidens and then bathed in their blood to keep her youthful appearance.

Other than the two historical vampires, Remus found no mention of vampire nobility. When he asked about it from the librarians, curious to see if they knew anything, they merely stared at him blankly. When he inquired further, they flatly asked: "Why would blood sucking monsters have any sort of hierarchy let alone nobility?" After that Remus decided that looking for answers was taking him nowhere. He decided to merely ask from Clay in the next night.

Clay, when Remus finally asked, seemed both surprised and amused. "Vampire nobility isn't actually nobility as you know it, Mr Lupin. There are actually only three truly noble vampires in this world - Countess Crowley, Viscount d'Eath and Marquis Sanguini. They're what you could call pureblood vampires, Sanguini being the oldest and Crowley being the youngest family. However… they are not the only ones who call themselves noble."

The black haired vampire smiled to himself. "There are dozens of vampire families who have been named as nobles by the other vampires. As learned young man you know that nobility usually comes from the crown and you can't claim nobility unless you inherit it or it's bestowed upon you," Clay chuckled. "Well, vampires are living in… outcast society, sort of speak. Set aside from the rest of the society and world, they developed their own strange habits. The nobility play is one of them - the major one."

He raised his goblet and took a sip while Remus quickly wrote notes. "Entire vampire families die quite often," the spectacled living dead continued. "Vampires are like muggle mob in a way. When one of them displeases others, the others will eradicate them without mercy. This makes their flimsy society mighty unstable, so they build their little nobility game. When a vampire gains enough wealth, strength or family members, he might be given a mock title of a noble. He can be just a busy nobody one day and count the next. The thing is, these titles only last as long as the vampires who bear them follow certain rules…"

The vampire smiled a small smile. "Vampire nobles are much like patriarchs of their families. Or maybe like mob heads, don's of Italian mafia," he chuckled. "They are supposed to look after their family - whether their family are made of children, followers, servants or slaves or whatever. When vampires approach the nobles as inferiors, the nobles are supposed to take care of them, welcome them to their families and protect them…"

Remus stared at him with surprise. "Really?" he asked. The vampire society sounded like nothing he had imagined. "I though that…" he trailed away, unsure.

"That we holed up ourselves in dark castles or forests and spend most of our time stalking people?" Clay chuckled. "Some do, as much is true. But… it's difficult. We are what we are and as such we have needs - needs that need to be fulfilled. Individuals are noticed if they move about individually and get their fill individually - because individual vampires go about it manually. And when these individuals go about biting people just like that, they are noticed - and most often than not they are treated as monsters and criminals even if they left their victims alive." Clay shook his head. "But if there is, let's say, thirty vampires working for single goal. Together they achieve more, get more money to… create blood banks for example."

"What?" Remus asked with surprise.

"It's a muggle thing. Since they don't have blood replenishing potion, their restore the blood they've possibly lost manually, using someone else's blood and introducing it to their bodies intravenously. Blood banks are places where muggles donate their blood for this use, and most often than not the blood is used in muggle hospitals and such." Clay chuckled. "Vampires, when they encountered this muggle custom, decided to make use of it. You'd be surprised if you knew how many underground muggle blood banks there are in the world," the living dead shook his head. "Vampires need blood to live - and most prefer human blood. But in times like these they can't exactly go and attack people so instead they make people come to them. And people do, of course they do… because usually these illegal blood banks pay their donators for their services - Sanguini blood banks even go as far as monitoring the health of their donators."

The werewolf leaned back in his seat, feeling like someone had just pulled carpet from underneath his feet. The image he had had of vampires - of ghastly red eyed and long fanged creatures dressed into ragged, out-dated clothing - was suddenly gone. "You just shattered my stereotypical mental image," Remus murmured with shock. "Since when have vampires been so… modern?"

"There have been plenty of vampires in the history who have paid for blood," Clay answered calmly. "You just don't know about them. Only the vampires who fell, who turned into serial killers, have been marked into history - mostly because back in those days, the vampire society didn't bother cleaning its trash. These days it does."

"Serial killers?" the young werewolf asked, having hard time connecting that term with blood sucking monster. It seemed like… term more fitting of humans than monsters.

"Vampires these days do not kill their victims. It's considered unsophisticated and vampires take great measures to avoid it. So when a vampire's victim dies - or turns into undead - the vampire becomes a murderer and is treated just as murderers in our society are. And trust me, vampires these days have even less sympathy for their killers than we do for ours - there is no such thing as vampire prison for there is only one punishment in vampire society," Clay sighed and closed his eyes. "There are no people who hate vampire history more than vampires - mostly because history only seems to remember the darkest deeds of the vampire kind… but then again, history is always written by the winners."

"Winners…" Remus repeated confusedly.

"The vampire hunts were like a war. War of beliefs, fear and politics… who do you think won?" Clay shook his head sadly.

"I prefer to think that wizards won a battle but the war was left unfinished," voice spoke from behind them, making them look around. A pale blonde man, slightly shorter than Clay, stood behind them, dressed into dark red coat and slacks of rather old fashioned style. It didn't take long for Remus to realise that the man wasn't a human. If the unnaturally pale skin hadn't given the man away, then the eerily glowing reddish brown eyes or the hint of fang in corner of the man's crooked smirk gave his race away.

"I guess that is one way of looking at it," Clay mused, taking in the other vampire with a single glance and smiling. "Have a seat, brother."

While Remus turned to look at Clay with surprise, the blonde vampire raised a single eyebrow. There was a moment of stillness and the young werewolf wasn't sure what was going on. Was the blonde vampire really Clay's brother? They didn't look at all like each other - and they certainly weren't acting all that brotherly. Though… with people like Clay it was difficult to say what to sort of behaviour could be "brotherly".

"You're bolder than I thought… brother," the blonde living dead mused almost to himself before taking a seat beside his black haired kin. He regarded Clay for a moment before tilting his head slightly. "Well, are you going to get me a drink?"

"That depends on what you drink," Clay said calmly while Remus was wading through even more confusion. These two definitely didn't act brotherly - heck, they didn't even seem to know each other. "If your preferred drink is served here and… if I want to buy it at all."

"Ah yes… you're an abstinent," the blonde vampire's smile slipped. "I've never actually met one of your sorts. From what I've heard your sort tends to die early - or depart from sophisticated society…"

Clay's smile turned slightly strained before the man's features were taken over by sudden expression of utter calm. "Perhaps so, brother," he admitted, turning his eyes away. Remus had to admire his employer's strength of will. He had a feeling that what the other vampire had meant wasn't all that polite, but Clay seemed not to take insult. "It's not easy… denying one's nature. For most it's impossible," the black haired vampire mused before glancing at the other vampire. "I am known as Clay - but I suppose you already know this. May I inquire your name?"

The blonde vampire was quiet for a moment before smiling. "My name is Renatus and my family is Sanguini," he answered, making Remus perk up slightly. The fair living dead either didn't notice or didn't care about it as he eyed Clay. "Do you have a family, brother?"

The black haired vampire turned to look away. "I had, once," he answered softly. "Back before I received my first blood. I had a wife and three children, but… that was some time ago."

"Did you cherish them?" the Sanguini vampire asked before Remus even begun processing the new information he had gained from his employer.

"I loved them more than sunlight and life itself," Clay shook his head and looked at the other vampire. "But it wasn't enough."

The blonde was quiet before nodding. "It never seems to be," he agreed and then smiled. "If I were to drink cow's blood, would you treat me… big brother?" he then asked almost teasingly.

"Gladly," Clay answered and waved at Tom. While his employer ordered them something to drink, Remus couldn't help but notice that some tension had left his employer's back. Something had happened in the strange interaction between the two vampires, but the werewolf wasn't sure what.

But, though Remus was eager to hear more, the two vampires didn't discuss much. They exchanged few pleasantries before Renatus Sanguini bid his thanks to Clay for treating him and left with graceful stride. While Remus watched him leave, he couldn't really understand what the encounter had been about. Had it been just a meeting between two vampires? If so, why did it feel… more? And Sanguini was, if Remus had understood it correctly, a powerful vampire family…

"That went certainly better than I suspected," Clay mused quietly while leaning back in his seat. "Yes, much better than I dared to hope."

"Mr Clay?" Remus asked with confusion.

"The three first moves of the nobility game have been played," the vampire smiled a small smile. "I've been accepted into the game as a potential player rather than as a pawn. And it's my turn too… things are going to get interesting from here on."

Remus stared at the man blankly but couldn't force himself to ask 'what in Merlin's name are you talking about?'

The vampire chuckled. "I guess you didn't notice," he mused before starting to explain. "They made the first move - I suspect that Sanguini family did the initiative since they made the second move. For some time I have felt a vampire watching me. When I gained certainty that watching me was all they were going to do, I made the second move with talk I had with you yesterday. They were watching me to show their interest. And I answered their interest with mine by wording it to you in way they could hear it. And now they have made initiative by sending Mr Renatus Sanguini to meet me - to let me know that they are considering letting me into the game. The next move is mine - and it will determine if I will become a player in their games."

The werewolf was speechless for a moment. All that had really happened and he hadn't even noticed? And the conversation in the previous night… "Was everything you said yesterday part of the game, sir?" he asked suspiciously.

"More or less," Clay answered calmly. "I let them know that I understood the game, that I understood my own position and that I understood the current state of affairs. Educating you, Mr Lupin, was just an added bonus."

For a moment Remus didn't know what to say. Then he shook his head slowly. "This game… seems fairly complicated," he then mused, deciding that taking offence of the man's actions would be foolish. "What will happen now, sir?"

"Now? The next move is mine. The Sanguini opened the way to the board for me. It's up to me to approach it - and the way I do it will determine my position and rank in this game," the vampire hummed to himself. He narrowed his eyes. "With my stature it will be tricky, but young Mr Sanguini placed his stature slightly below mine, that will open some pathways…"

Remus stared at him without understanding.

"My lack of family name puts me in one of the lowest positions vampire can put himself. It's a sign of shame, if you will, giving up one's family name," Clay explained and shook his head. "Because of that I prepared for a very difficult first moves - usually ones like me are never invited to the game. Yet young Mr Sanguini placed himself below me, named me his elder sibling…"

"There was a meaning in the whole _'brother'_ thing?" the werewolf asked. He had thought that 'Clay' was the vampire's family name and had never even questioned the lack of first name. It put things into strange new light, this revelation.

"It was a bold move on my part. I forced equality between us," Clay sighed. "I wanted to make my first stand firm. I did except him to try and usurp the equality - if he had called me his _'little brother'_ he would've been trying to lower my stature below his… but he did the exact opposite. That was unexpected, and I'm not entirely sure if it's good or bad for me."

As the werewolf decided that the games of vampires were slightly too complicated for him, Clay shook his head. "Time will tell," he mused. "Time always tells."


	11. X Wise felines

**X chapter**

**Wise felines**

Felines have long and complicated history with magic. The most dangerous magical creature ever to walk upon earth is, despite most public opinions, a feline. Not a dragon or a dementor or even a basilisk, but a nundu, gigantic feline much like leopard that breathes diseases and death. Interestingly enough the most trustworthy magical creature is also a feline - a kneazle, intelligent cat that can tell if a person or a creature is honest and trustworthy or not.

Despite this, though, it was muggles and not wizards that begun the habit of domesticating cats. It originated from Egypt, originally as means of vermin control and then developing into worship as it tended to happen in those times. Ever since then cats have been part of muggle culture, becoming part of magical culture only some thousand years later when wizards begun to realise that cats in general have ability to see magic, ability which most non-magical creatures lack.

Cats were incorporated into magical culture some time before Merlin. Before that time, no one had ever considered "domesticating" a kneazle. At that time kneazles were regarded same way as phoenixes and unicorns - they were respected magical animals, sacred even. Even if kneazle, much like a phoenix, could decide to take residence in some magician's presence, a kneazle still was not a pet. At that time Helga Hufflepuff, who had had a kneazle as one of her animal companions, had been regarded as a great witch just because of the cat.

That belief and respect faded over the years when wizards found a way of breeding kneazles by interbreeding them with non-magical cats, turning them tamer. They lost the respect they had previously gained and eventually their stature was lowered just little over the stature of normal non-magical house cat. Nowadays only greatest animal lovers even bother thinking about the speciality of kneazles.

It disgusts me. Some of the oldest texts of history say that the original pure kneazles, the wild ones that hadn't been bred, could talk human languages and that they even had human level intelligence. The kneazles of today are mere shadows of their proud ancestors. Some of them seem to still understand human language, some rare ones even may answer to it with mews and such… but the "talking kneazle" is nothing but a myth these days.

It's interesting, though. When wizards embraced cats, it had effect on muggle society as well. There was a time when no wizard household, no matter how small, went without a feline. It was a pride of a rich house hold to have a kneazle even… This had effect on muggle world during the middle ages. Wizards were mistrusted and feared and when they started keeping company with cats…

Thanks to wizards muggles held distrust towards their formally trusted companions. In their society cats became the omens of evil and bad luck. Perhaps the independent and aloof attitude of felines had something to do with it, but the fact still stands. When the Black Death and other plagues of its kind struck, muggles looked upon cats as the Devil's servants that were spreading the death. When the plagues were at their worse, muggles would hunt down their cats and kill them in masses. Many bad things happened in those times, but that is one of the stupidest things that took place.

Because it wasn't the cats that were spreading the plague, it was the rats - or the vermin carried by the rats. When the cats were killed, the rats multiplied explosively, making the plague even worse, killing even more people. Of course pointing blame now is useless and foolish, but still… if wizards hadn't landed cats into such bad reputation, muggles wouldn't have treated them so badly and lot less people would've died in those ages…

But that's neither here nor there.

The one cat that has worst reputation on this earth is the infamous black cat. No one knows where the original myth of black cat comes from. In some regions it's considered bad luck to see a black cat cross one's path. In other regions black cats were once upon time thought to be transformed witches - and who knows, it might be true. In any case, muggles have long time associated black cats with witchcraft. But these days no one fears the black cat more than wizards themselves.

Like a Grim - the black dog - a black cat is omen of extremely bad luck. For long time wizards have believed that seeing a black cat portends illnesses and the loss of magical power. For example, if a pregnant witch sees a black cat, the child will be either born a squib or dead. And if a black cat takes residence in one's house, someone living in the house will lose all their magical powers. In magical world there is no luck worse than lack of magical ability - that is why many prefer to see the Grim rather than the black cat.

My Animagus form most likely came from my teacher, whose form was also a feline. Or perhaps my nature is simply catlike. It might be my utter mistrust and contempt towards divination… but these days I take great pride in the fact that my Animagus form is a black cat. I find it incredibly fitting.

- Clay

-

Clay eyed the foundations of his castle with a small frown. Things seemed to be going well. Howell and Wordsmith had started layering the spells to the centres and the ward stones had been picked up - there was going to be about hundred of them. The spots of the centres had been picked up and while these spots were waiting for the centres, the dwarves were concentrating onto bringing building material to the site. The sight of several tons of dark stone standing in wait was rather intimidating - or it would have been if there hadn't been several dwarves here and there just carving random statues to pass the time.

The vampire drummed his gloved fingers against the handle of his cane. Until the centring was finished, the constructing couldn't begin in earnest. Howell was a talented warder, that everyone knew, but his weakness laid in the fact that he was alone. Had there been group of ward-makers, the centring could've been done in matter of days, but it took some time for a single ward-maker to layer the spells. But though the sudden halt of the building did cause smallest sliver of annoyance, he had known that it was ahead and prepared for it. And to be honest, Howell was working extremely fast considering that he had only grumpy Wordsmith helping him.

"Mostly the centres are laid in grid or in certain parts of structure," he heard Howell explain to Remus, who was interestedly watching the ward-maker and the dwarf magician work. "Underneath walls and preferably in corners… that's where the original concept of "corner stone" comes from. However Wordsmith and I found some… inconvenient spots which will be covered with statues and pillars. Few we might leave without any covering though, just the wall."

"Isn't that bad?" the young werewolf asked with confusion. "I though that it was good to hide the centres."

"Can't be too systematic," Wordsmith harrumphed. "If someone would be set on destroying the centres, it would be corners they would search the first. Many castles have been brought down thorough the history because the ward centres were too easy to find. One of the reasons why Hogwarts has stood right as rain for thousand years is because it has over fifty centres - and they only know the location of dozen."

"There's a good reason why Hogwarts is considered the safest place on earth," Howell mused. "They don't make wards like Hogwarts wards these days. Goblins have been trying to duplicate them for centuries, but even with curses and dragons as their guards they still haven't reached the level of Hogwarts' security."

Clay frowned slightly at that. Hogwarts was secure, as much was true. But it was only secure as long as it had a secure headmaster - one that did not welcome enemies in with open arms and easy smiles. Turning his eyes away and looking over the field that would be the yard of his castle, the vampire's eyes darkened. His castle would not be like Hogwarts. It would not give open invitation to just anyone. After all, he was no benefactor and he had no intention of running a charity. Those who would reside in Atrumfort would have to earn their keep.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his mind skipping to the one who was already by default the resident of Atrumfort. It had been almost three weeks since he had visited his younger self. He had a rather clear idea of how young Harry was doing - it was impossible for him not to know - but remembering and witnessing it were two different things.

"Mr Lupin," he raised his voice over what ever Howell had been saying. He didn't even need to turn around or listen to know that Remus was quickly approaching him and soon at his side. "There is business I need to take care off that I had almost forgotten," the vampire glanced at his assistant. "There's not much for me to do here anyway. Could you get reports from Mognar and Hargal as well as Mr Howell in my absence?"

"Of course, Mr Clay," Remus nodded before frowning. "Though Wordsmith said that Hargal is underground with the nymphs, I'm not sure if I can…"

"Then ask of his process from the other dwarves, that will suffice," Clay assured. "If he is busy training the young nymphs then I would hate to interrupt them. I merely want to know they have progressed."

Remus nodded. "I should be able to work that out," he promised.

"Good. I will most likely be out the rest of the night so there is no need to wait for me," the vampire said. "You can update me in the evening." He glanced over the construction site final time, before nodding to his assistant and Disapparating.

Reappearing in the park of Little Whinging, the vampire easily slid into his slim animal form and begun making his way towards his destination. In the darkness of the late night he was nothing but a shadow as he made his way to the row of houses of Magnolia Crescent. He slipped into garden of one of them and then walked through the small estate to the street, planning to head down it and then right to Privet Drive, when he caught the scent of another feline.

Glancing around with his ears laid back, Clay sniffed the air carefully. Yes, it was a cat's scent - and not just any cat's. This one had hint of kneazle in it. As his memory supplied him with theory of how and why there was a part-kneazle cat here, he saw the cat itself. It was great brown tomcat sitting in brick wall not far away, peering down to him with eerie yellow eyes.

Clay froze, keeping his tail down. This was not his territory so he couldn't act too cocky - not that cats with kneazle in them were very territorial, but it never hurt to be careful. He wasn't all that worried about the cat attacking him, though - he could always change his form and be done with it. What he was worried was the kneazle part of the cat. It was minute, but even a hint of kneazle blood could give cat some magical abilities - one which included the ability to see through Animagus transformations.

The tomcat seemed to assess him for a moment before standing up. Clay noted the way the cat held it's rather thick tail up as it jumped down from the brick wall - and just how much bigger than him the tomcat was. Most times having a small, nimble form was useful. But as the larger cat approached him, he couldn't help but curse the smallness of his Animagus form.

The part-kneazle walked to him, stopped momentarily before pushing past him. Clay raised his ears with confusion as the tomcat brushed against his side in expression of fondness. Glancing back at the other cat he found the part-kneazle glancing at him before treading away down the street. Now curious, Clay followed the tomcat.

His initiative theory about the cat's origin had been right. The cat led him to the house of Arabella Figg, Little Winging's resident squib who has been assigned as Harry Potter's watcher. Clay laid his ears back at the sight of her house and glanced at the part-kneazle. If he hadn't known as much as he did know about magical cats, he could've assumed that the tomcat was leading him to the house to let Mrs Figg know about his presence. Kneazles and their less than purebred descendants, however, didn't act like that. They were always more or less truthful about their actions.

Clay lowered his head slightly as the part-kneazle stopped to wait for him. If this tomcat had thought that he was a threat, it would've attacked him the moment it had seen him. It hadn't, but the situation wasn't any more pleasant for Clay. Mrs Figg was only a squib but she was part of the Order of Phoenix. Making contact with her, even as a cat, wasn't safe for him.

As he hesitated, the part-kneazle glanced up to the house. Then, without waiting for Clay, the cat turned and walked up to the door, easily slipping into the house through the small cat door in the bottom of the front door. Clay hesitated for a moment. Whilst his head was telling that going in was a bad idea, his instincts told him that it was safe. He teetered on the edge for a while before sighing and following the other cat, hoping that he wasn't making a mistake.

The house was silent and dark, its resident obviously sleeping. The part-kneazle was sitting in the hall waiting for Clay as the black cat slipped inside. With visible satisfaction the tomcat turned and began to lead Clay across the hall and then up the stairs. There, in the second floor, the tomcat let the black cat to the room Clay remembered to be Mrs Figg's guest room.

The Animagus was more than surprised to see a small body there, sleeping on the guest room's bed. Without much hesitation, Clay jumped up to the bed and beside two year old Harry Potter who was happily sleeping underneath a heavy duvet. As he approached the boy, he noticed that there were already two cats there - small grey kitten and slightly elder orange tabby, both which were partly kneazle. The kitten was curled at Harry's side while the tabby had decided to sleep behind Harry's knees bend.

Sitting on the bed and looking down to the sleeping boy, Clay allowed the tip of his tail to flicker with irritation. Apparently Dursleys were out - maybe on some holiday - and had decided to leave Harry in Mrs Figg's care. Clay didn't know what irritated him the most - that they had left Harry behind or the fact that the boy was properly happier at his babysitter's house than he ever was at Dursleys.

The tomcat jumped up to the bed as well, brushing past Clay and settling down beside Harry's head. Whilst the kitten slept away contently, the tabby and the tomcat both looked up to Clay silently, knowingly. Glancing at them the Animagus wondered just how much of their ancestors' abilities these part-kneazles had. But in the end it didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that the cats trusted him.

For a split of a moment the Animagus was tempted to transform and look upon his younger self in his actual form. He knew he couldn't, though. The boy still had trace on him and something as difficult as Animagus transformation would've been picked up easily - especially since Harry wasn't supposed to have any magic around him. Even if that hadn't alerted Dumbledore, it would've alerted the Ministry. And that was something he couldn't dare to risk yet.

With a sigh, Clay settled down on the bed and watched over small Harry Potter. The boy looked more innocent than Clay could remember ever being, but then Harry was only two. Even if he had already been predisposed to the horror that was the Dursley family, he still knew nothing of the world and its horrors. It was right for Harry to look like that.

The black cat sighed, wrapping his tail around himself and over his paws. People were different when they were awake and when they were sleeping. Harry looked happy and content when he was asleep but what did he look like when he was awake? What could possibly be going on in the head of a child thrown into unfair family that adored one child and hated the other? Harry was so young… did he yet realise how wrong things were?

Clay couldn't quite remember the time when he had been two years old. One of his earliest memories was from the time when he had been four and Aunt Marge had been whacking his shins to keep him from outdoing Dudley at singing - and he only remembered that far because his shins had been hurting for few days afterwards. Had he already at that time lost his hope with the Dursley family? Probably not because he could remember the actual time when he had started to feel the same contempt for them as they felt for him. He had been seven then.

The black cat's green gaze darkened and sharpened. Harry Potter - this Harry Potter anyway - would not reach that point. Clay would not allow it. He had no intention of allowing Harry to go through that and turn out the way Clay had. It was enough that one weapon and monster like him had been forged. Besides, the boy was no use to him rotting away in house hold of muggles - Harry had something that Clay would need eventually.

If the part-kneazles could sense his darkening thoughts, they didn't seem to care as they began to slumber at the child's side. Clay didn't sleep. He just watched and plotted, thinking of the day he would whisk Harry Potter away from the horrible place that was his childhood home.

When the Animagus living dead eventually made his way out after he had seen the first signs of dawn, he made a mental note to get some part-kneazles to his castle once it was done. There were dozens of better "watch dogs" in the magical world that could protect one's house well, but none of them could tell if person was trustworthy like kneazles could. And in the end Clay didn't need creatures to protect him, it was quite the other way around.

When he got to Leaky Cauldron, Remus had already retired to his room. After drinking a goblet of cow's blood, Clay did the same. Before going to bed, though, he took out a shrunken box he carried in one of his pockets and returned it to its original size. Inside it he had several books and writing utensils.

Taking out thick, rather messy book with black cover, Clay spreaded it to the desk of his rented room and sat down. Inside the book there were more than pages - there were news paper clippings, photographs, letters, notes, official documents and things like that between the pages. Leafing through the book and to the last page where he had written anything, Clay took out a quill and ink. Glancing over his last entry - which had been about Renatus Sanguini and the living dead for most part - he begun to write about Harry Potter, kneazles and squibs.

When he eventually closed the book and began to undress for bed, he had to wonder. Long time ago it had been natural for all wizard families to have cat, most preferably a part-kneazle in their house hold. This habit had gone out of style around the eighteenth century and nowadays only squibs seemed to care for their abilities and company. Clay wasn't sure why the habit had gone out of fashion, though. Was it because the kneazle blood had started turning thinner and thinner... or because the wizards themselves had starting to turn less and less loyal, less and less honourable?

After witnessing the behaviour of Figg's part-kneazles, Clay tended to think that the latter theory might've been more accurate.

-

"Things are going well, sir," Remus reported to Clay in the following evening. "Howell and Wordsmith are weaving their spells at good rate - according to their own words anyway. The dwarves have less and less to do around the foundations because they can't continue building so they've taken up sculpturing - you're going to have lot of statues and nicely sculptured pillars at Atrumfort. According to Mognar about half of them are working for the castle at Dweorgas, forging what ever metal will be needed and carving the doors and such. Rest pipe-work is ready as well."

Clay nodded while taking a sip of the blood he had ordered. "Did you manage to get hold of Hargal?" he asked.

"No, but Mognar gave me update on him. The nymphs are learning quickly," Remus glanced up from his notes. "They're already getting fairly good at hardening and transforming the soil into harder materials. Shale, apparently, is better at it than Ruby and Tiger, but he's the oldest so it's no wonder really. Ruby, I hear, is showing a talent at creating faux jewels."

The vampire nodded. "That sounds about right," he mused. As long as one of the nymphs was good at hardening the soil, that would be enough. Once the warding would be complete, half of the dwarves would start working on Aterwick rather than Atrumfort and at that time they would need Shale's abilities. While the building of Atrumfort was important, Aterwick took the priority in Clay's mind. "Has Mognar yet made a statement about how much I will need to pay for the castle's building materials?"

"He sketched something but said that it's not really official yet, they are still bringing more stone," Remus answered, taking out a small sliver of parchment and handing it to his employer. When Clay raised his eyebrows with surprise at the writing, the young werewolf seemed embarrassed. "Mognar said that he was getting most of the stone with half of its original price because some of his connections but…" he didn't seem to think that the stone was cheap.

"No no, this is good," Clay murmured, remembering back to the time he had built another shelter of the kind he was building now. He had had to pay three times more and there had been no castle at that time. "This a very low price for stone approved by dwarves. Much better than I hoped, in fact," he laid the parchment down. "If you see Mognar before I do, let him know that once he has an official statement I'll take him to Gringotts to deal with it."

"I'll do that, Mr Clay," Remus promised while taking out another note. "There was also something that doesn't actually involve the castle's process but you might want to know anyway. The dwarves have been seeing some unusual guests about the castle. House elves have been popping in and out every now and then. The dwarves said that they're all free elves, the initial warding Wordsmith laid over the foundations wouldn't allow them to approach the place otherwise."

The living dead glanced at the werewolf. "Free house elves, hm? Makes sense, they have tendency of being drawn to the construction of castles and mansions," he mused. "I guess they're looking for a new master to serve, new house to take care off…"

"Howell said that he could throw a temporary ward to keep them away," Remus said with a frown. "And then he could incorporate that element into the main warding."

"No, no," Clay shook his head. "The castle will need house elves. Hm… it's difficult though…" he leaned back in his seat. Most house elves were freed upon the death of last heir of the family they served. Things like that happened often in the magical world so often that there was a "House Elf Relocation Office" at the Ministry that kept tract of all homeless elves. The elves that had been checking Atrumfort no doubt were listed by the Relocation Office. If Clay were to accept some of these elves to his house, he would need to deal with the Office… which meant going into the Ministry. That was not something he wanted to do, not yet anyway.

"See if the dwarves can get some information out of the elves - about their last families, how long they have been without home and if they're listed in the House Elf Relocation Office," Clay said to Remus who quickly wrote it down. "Once I get more information I'll see to do something about it," the living dead promised, wondering if he could contact the Relocation Office by proxy.

"I'll do that," Remus nodded. "Castle the size of Atrumfort will need plenty house elves to take care of it," he mused thoughtfully while writing his employers request down.

"Not as many as you think," Clay mused thoughtfully. "But I'm willing to take any trustworthy elf that comes looking for a home."

He had no intentions of making house elves work at the castle in manner one would've presumed. If he had handed the chores of the castle to the house elves, nothing would be left for the actual residents of his castle. He had no intention of letting anyone live there for free - besides doing chores was a nice lesson of humbleness. And there was never enough humility in the world.

There was another task, however, which he would give to the elves any would take residence in his castle. It was more of a test than task, though. Test to see if his theory of the origins of house elves was correct. The vampire smiled slightly but the smile wasn't a happy one.

--

The black cat thing concerning Wizarding world is total fiction, there probably was few black cats in the books, but I liked the idea of wizards adopting muggle superstitions - and the whole thing was supposed to play a larger part in the plot later on.

:( sadly this is the final chapter I have written for this fic and for months and months I haven't been able to write anything else. Hopefuly one day I will regain inspiration because I really like this fic, as flawed as it is, and I had several plans for it. People and creatures to introduce and pick apart, hmm... maybe one day.


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